STEDMAN'S    POEMS. 


IN    UNIFORM   VOLUMES. 

The  Blameless  Prince,  and  other  Poems.    Price,  $1.50. 

Alice  Of  Monmouth :   An  Idyl  of  the  Great  War.     With  other 
Poems.     (Third  Edition.)     Price,  $1.50. 

Poems,  Lyric  and  Idyllic.     (Third  Edition.)    Price,  $1.50. 


THE 


BLAMELESS    PRINCE, 


AND    OTHER    POEMS. 


BY 


EDMUND    CLARENCE    STEDMAN. 


BOSTON: 
FIELDS,    OSGOOD,    &    CO., 

SUCCESSORS  TO   TICKNOR  AND   FIELDS. 
1869. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1869,  by 

FIELDS,     OSGOOD,     &     CO., 
in  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  District  of  Massachusetts. 


UNIVERSITY  PRESS  :   WELCH,  BIGELOW,  &  Co., 
CAMBRIDGE. 


affectfonateli)  Jhiscrffcefc 


RICHARD    HENRY    STODDARD, 


Rare  knowledge  of  our  sweetest  Saxon  lore ; 
High  purpose;  friends,  that  love  to  seek  thy  door; 
Strong  wings  of  Song;  — what  needs  a  poet  more? 


CONTENTS. 


PACK 

THE  BLAMELESS  PRINCE 9 

MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS. 

I.  SONGS  AND  STUDIES. 

SURF 95 

TOTJJOURS  AMOUR    ........  97 

LAURA,  MY  DARLING    ........  99 

THE  TRYST .  102 

VIOLET  EYES 103 

THE  DOORSTEP          ........  105 

ILIUM  FUIT 108 

COUNTRY  SLEIGHING .  114 

PAN  IN  WALL  STREET 118 

ANONYMA 123 

SPOKEN  AT  SEA 127 

THE  DUKE'S  EXEQUY 131 

THE  HILLSIDE  DOOR     ........  134 

AT  TWILIGHT 137 

H.   POEMS  OF  NATURE. 

WOODS  AND  WATERS  ........  141 

To  B.  T.  145 


Vlll  CONTENTS. 

THE  MOUNTAIN     .........  146 

HOLYOKE  VALLEY 153 

THE  FEAST  OF  HARVEST 156 

AUTUMN  SONG 160 

WHAT  THE  WINDS  BRING     .         .         .         .         .         .        .162 

BETROTHED  ANEW    .         .                 .         .         .         .'-.-.  163 

III.   SHADOW-LAND. 

"THE  UNDISCOVERED  COUNTRY"           .         .         .                  .  167 

"DARKNESS  AND  THE  SHADOW" 169 

THE  ASSAULT  BY  NIGHT 171 

GEORGE  ARNOLD 174 

THE  SAD  BRIDAL         .         . 177 

TRANSLATIONS  FROM  THEOCRITUS. 

THE  REAPERS       .                  181 

HYLAS  186 


THE  BLAMELESS   PRINCE. 


PRELUDE. 


,  wherefore  hither  bring 
Old  romance,  while  others  sing 

Sweeter  idyls  of  to-day  ? 

Why  not  picture  in  your  lay 
Western  woods  and  ivaters  grand, 
Clouds  and  skies  of  this  fair  land? 

Are  there  fairer  far  away? 

I  have  many  another  song 
Of  those  regions  where  belong, 

First  of  all,  my  heart  and  home. 

If  for  once  my  fancy  roam, 
Trust  me,  in  the  land  I  view 
Falls  the  sunshine,  falls  the  dew, 

And  the  Spring  and  Summer  come. 


12  THE   BLAMELESS   PRINCE. 

Why  from  yonder  stubble  glean 

Ancient  names  of  King  and  Queen, 
Knightly  men  and  maidens  fair  f 
Are  there  in  our  time  no  rare 

Beauteous  women,  heroes  brave  ? 

Is  there  naught  this  side  the  grave 
Worth  the  dust  you  gather  there? 

Nay,  but  these  were  human  too, 
Strong  or  wayward,  false  or  true. 
Art  will  seek  through  every  clime 
For  her  picture  or  her  rhyme; 
Yes,  nor  looking  far  around, 
But  to-day  I  sought  and  found 
These  who  lived  in  that  old  time. 

Why  should  ice  again  be  told 

Dross  will  mingle  with  all  gold? 
That  which  time  nor  test  can  stain 
Was  not  smelted  quite  in  vain. 

What  of  Albert's  blameless  heart, 

Arthur's  old  heroic  part, 

Saxon  Alfred's  glorious  reign? 


PRELUDE.  13 


Yes,  my  Prince  was  such  as  they, 
Part  of  gold,  and  part  of  clay, 

Though  his  metal  shone  as  bright, 
And  his  dross  was  hid  from  sight. 
He  who  brightest  is,  and  best, 
Still  may  fear  the  secret  test 
That  shall  try  his  heart  aright. 


Let  me,  then,  begin  my  lay 

In  such  English  as  I  may. 

Turn  the  leaf  that  lies  between 
You  who  listen  and  the  scene! 

Your  pity  for  the  Lady,  since 

She  died  of  sorrow ;  spare  my  Prince ; 
Love  to  the  last  my  gentle  Queen! 


THE  BLAMELESS  PRINCE. 


T  ONG  since,  there  was  a  Princess  of  the  blood, 
Sole  heiress  to  the  crown  her  father  wore,  — 
Plucked  from  a  dying  stem,  that  one  fair  bud 
Put  forth,  and  withered  ere  it  others  bore  ; 
And  scarce  the  King-  her  blossomed  youth  had  seen, 
When  he,  too,  slept  the  sleep,  and  she  was  Queen. 


Hers  was  a  goodly  realm,  not  stretched  afar 
In  desert  wilds  by  wolf  and  savage  scoured, 

But  locked  in  generous  limits,  strong  in  war, 

Serene  in  peace,  with  mountains  walled  and  towered, 

Fed  by  the  tilth  of  many  a  fertile  plain, 

And  veined  with  streams  that  proudly  sought  the  main. 


16  THE  BLAMELESS  PEINCE. 

The  open  sea  bore  commerce  to  her  marts, 

Tumbling  half  round  her  borders  with  its  tide  ; 

Her  vessels  shot  the  surge  ;  all  noble  arts 
Of  use  and  beauty  in  her  towns  were  plied ; 

Her  court  was  regal  ;    lords  and  ladies  lit 

The  palace  with  their  graces  and  their  wit. 


Wise  councillors  devised  each  apt  decree 

That  gained  the  potent  sanction  of  her  hand  ; 

Great  captains  led  her  arms  on  shore  and  sea  ; 
She  was  the  darling  of  a  loyal  land  ; 

Poets  sang  her  praises,  and  in  hut  and  hall 

Her  excellence  was  the  discourse  of  all. 


Her  pride  was  suited  to  her  high  estate, 
Her  gentleness  was  equal  with  her  youth, 

Her  wisdom  in  her  goodness  found  its  mate  ; 
Her  beauty  was  not  that  which  brings  to  ruth 

Men's  lives,  but  clear  and  luminous  ;  —  and  fair 

Her  locks,  and  over  all  a  sovereign  air. 


THE   BLAMELESS   PRINCE.  17 

Without,  she  bore  herself  as  rulers  should, 
Queenly  in  walk  and  gesture  and  attire  ; 

Within,  she  nursed  her  flower  of  maidenhood, 
Sweet  girlish  thoughts  and  virginal  desire  ; 

No  woman's  head  so  keen  to  work  its  will 

But  that  the  woman's  heart  is  mistress  still. 


Three  years  she  ruled  a  nation  well  content 
To  have  a  maiden  queen  ;  then  came  a  day 

When  those  on  whom  her  councils  chiefly  leant 
Began  to  speak  of  marriage,  and  to  pray 

Their  sovereign  not  to  hold  herself  alone, 

Nor  trust  the  tenure  of  an  heirless  throne  ; 


And  then  the  people  took  the  cry,  nor  lack 
Was  there  of  courtly  suitors  far  or  near,  — 

Kings,  dukes,  crown-princes,  —  swift  upon  the  track 
Like  huntsmen  closing  round  a  royal  deer. 

These  she  regarded  not,  but  still,  among 

Her  maids  arid  missals    to  her  freedom  clung. 


18  THE   BLAMELESS   PKINCE. 

Arid  with  the  rest  there  camo  a  puissant  king, 
Whose  country  pressed  against  her  own  domain, 

In  strength  its  equal,  but  continuing 

Its  dearest  foe  through  many  a  martial  reign. 

He  sued  to  join  his  hand  and  realm  with  hers, 

And  end  these  wars  ;  then  all  her  ministers 


Pleaded  his  suit  ;    but,  asking  yet  for  grace, 
And  that  her  hand  might  wait  upon  her  heart, 

She  halted,  till  the  proud  king  turned  his  face 
Homeward  ;  and  still  the  people,  for  their  part, 

Waited  her  choice,  nor  grudged  her  sex's  share 

Of  coyness  to  a  queen  so  young  and  fair. 


There  was  a  little  State  that  nestled  close 
Beside  her  boundaries,  as  wont  to  claim, 

Though  free,  protection  there  from  outer  foes, 
A  Principality  —  at  least  in  name  — 

Whose  ruler  was  her  father's  life-long  friend 

And  ally,  skilled  in  statesmancraft  to  lend 


THE  BLAMELESS  PRINCE.  19 

Shrewd  counsel,  and  who  made,  in  days  gone  by, 
A  visit  to  this  court,  and  with  him  led 

His  son,  a  gentle  Prince,  of  years  anigh 

Her  own,  —  twelve  summers  shone  from  either  head  ; 

And  while  their  elders  moved  from  place  to  place,  — 

The  field-review,  the  audience,  the  chase,  — 


The  Princess  and  the  Prince,  together  thrown, 
With  their  companions  held  a  mimic  court, 

And  with  that  sweet  equality,  the  crown 

Of  Childhood,  —  which  discovers  in  its  sport 

No  barriers  of  rank  or  wealth  or  power,  — 

He  named  himself  her  consort.     From  that  hour 


The  mindful  Princess  never  quite  forgot 

Those  joyous  days,  nor  him,  the  fair-haired  Prince  ; 
And  though  she  well  had  learned  her  greater  lot, 

And  haply  from  his  thought  had  passed  long  since 
Her  girlish  image,  chance,  that  moves  between 
Two  courts,  had  brought  his  portrait  to  the  Queen. 


20  THE  BLAMELESS  PRINCE. 

This  from  her  cabinet  she  took  one  morn, 
When  they  still  urged  the  suit  of  that  old  king, 

And  said,  half-jesting,  with  a  pretty  scorn, 

"  Why  mate  your  wilful  Queen  with  mouldering 

And  crabbed  Age?     Now  were  he  shaped  like  this, 

With  such  a  face,  he  were  not  so  amiss. 


"  Queens  are  but  women  ;  't  is  a  sickly  year 

That  couples  frost  and  thaw,  our  minstrels  sing."  — 

"Ho!"  thought  the  graybeards,  "sets  the  wind  so  near?" 
And  thought  again  :  "  Why  not  ?  "  the  scherneful  king 

Perchance  would  rule  us  where  he  should  be  ruled ; 

A  humbler  consort  will  be  sooner  schooled." 


Forewarned  are  those  whom  Fortune's  gifts  await. 

Ere  waned  a  moon  the  elder  prince  had  learned  — 
From  half  the  weathercocks  which  gilt  the  state, 

Spying  the  wind  and  shifting  where  it  turned  — 
That  for  love's  simple  sake  his  son  could  gain 
The  world's  chief  prize,  which  kings  had  sought  in  vain. 


THE  BLAMELESS  PEINCE.  21 

How  could  he  choose  but  clutch  it  ?  Yet  the  son 
Seemed  worthy,  for  his  parts  were  of  that  mould 

Oft-failing  Nature  strives  to  join  in  one, 

And  shape  a  hero  —  pure  and  wise  and  bold: 

In  arts  and  arms  the  wonder  of  his  peers, 

The  flower  of  princes,  prince  of  cavaliers  ; 


Tall,  lithe  of  form,  and  of  a  northern  mien, 

Gentle  in  speech  and  thought,  —  while  thus  he  shone, 

A  rising  star,  though  chosen  of  a  queen, 

Why  seek  the  skies  less  tranquil  than  his  own? 

Why  should  he  climb  beside  her  perilous  height, 

And  in  that  noonday  blaze  eclipse  his  light? 


Ah,  why  ?  —  one's  own  life  may  be  bravely  led, 
But  not  another's.     Yet,  as  to  and  fro 

The  buzzing  private  embassies  were  sped, 

And  when  the  Queen's  own  pages,  bowing  low, 

Told  in  his  ear  a  sweet  and  secret  story, 

The  Prince,  long  trained  to  seek  his  house's  glory, 


22  THE   BLAMELESS   PRINCE. 

Let  every  gracious  sentence  seem  a  plume 
Of  love  and  beckoning  beauty  for  his  helm. 

So  passed  a  season  ;  then  the  cannon's  boom 
And  belfry's  peal  delivered  to  the  realm 

The  Queen's  betrothal,  and  the  councils  met, 

And  for  the  nuptial  rites  a  day  was  set. 


when  the  time  grew  ripe,  the  favored  Prince 
Rides  forth,  and  through  the  little  towns  that  mourn 
His  loss,  and  past  the  boundaries  ;  and,  since 
To  ape  the  pomp  to  which  he  was  not  born 
Seemed  in  his  soul  a  foolish  thing  and  vain, 
A  few  near  comrades,  only,  made  his  train. 


THE   BLAMELESS  PRINCE.  23 

Nor  pressed  the  populace  along  the  ways  ; 

But  —  for  he  wished  it  so  —  unheralded 
He  rode  from  post  to  post  through  many  days, 

Yet  gained  a  greatness  as  the  distance  fled, 
As  some  dim  comet,   drawing  near  its  bound, 
Takes  lustre  from  the  orb  it  courses  round. 


And  league  by  league  his  fantasies  outran 

His  progress,  brooding  on  his  mistress'  power, 

Until  his  own  estate  the  while  began 

To  seem  of  lesser  worth  each  passing  hour; 

And  with  misdoubt  this  fortune  weighed  him  down, 

As  though  a  splendid  mantle  had  been  thrown 


About  him,  which  he  knew  not  well  to  wear, 
And  might  not  forfeit.     Yet  he  spurred  apace, 

And  reached  a  country-seat  that  bordered  near 
The  Capital.     Here,  for  a  little  space, 

He  was  to  rest  from  travel,  and  await 

His  day  of   entrance  at  the  city's  gate. 


24  THE   BLAMELESS  PRINCE. 

Upon  these  grounds  a  gray -haired  noble  dwelt, 
A  ribboned  courtier  of  the  former  reign  ; 

A  tedious  proper  man,  who  glibly  knelt 
To  royalty,  —  this  ancient  chamberlain,  — 

Yoked  with  a  girlish  wife,  and,   for  the   rest, 

Proud  of  the  charge  that  made  a  prince  his  guest. 


The  highway  ran  beside  a  greenwood  keep 

That  reached,  herefrom,  quite  to  the  city's  edge ; 

Across,  the  fields  with  golden  corn  were  deep  ; 
The  level  sunset  pierced  the  wayside  hedge  ; 

The  banks  were  all  abloom  ;  —  a  pheasant  whirred 

Far  in  the  bush  ;  anon,  some  tuneful  bird 


Broke  into  song,  or,  from  a  covert  dark, 

A  bounding  deer  its  dappled  haunches  showed 

As  though  it  heard  the  staghound's  distant  bark. 
The  wistful  Prince  with  loitering  purpose  bode, 

And  thought  how  good  it  were  to  spend  one's  life 

Far  off  from  men,  nor  jostled  with  their  strife. 


THE   BLAMELESS  PEINCE.  25 

Even  as  he  mused  he  saw  his  host  ahead, 
Speeding  to  welcome  him,  in  lordly  wont, 

And  all  the  household  in  a  line  bestead  ; 
And  lightly  with  that  escort,  at  the  front, 

A  peerless  woman  rode  across  the  green  ; 

Then  the  Prince  thought,  "  It  surely  is  the  Queen, 


Who  comes  to  meet  me  of  her  loving  grace  !  " 
And  his  blood  mounted ;  but  he  knew  how  fair 

The  royal  locks,  and,  when  she  neared  his  place, 
He  saw  the  lady's  prodigal  dark  hair 

And  wondrous  loveliness  were  wide  apart 

From  the  sweet,  tranquil  picture  next  his  heart. 


And  when  the  chamberlain,  with  halted  suit, 

Made  reverence,  and  was  answered  courteous-wise, 

The  lady  to  her  knightly  guest's  salute 

Turned  her  face  full,  so  that  he  marked  her  eyes,  — 

How  dewy  gray  beneath  each  long,  black  lid, 

And  danger  somewhere  in  their  light  lay  hid. 
2 


26  THE  BLAMELESS  PRINCE. 

There  are  some  natures  housed  so  chaste  within 
Their  placid  dwellings  that  their  heads  control 

The  tumult  of  their  hearts  ;  and  thus  they  win 
A  quittance  from  this  pleading  of  the  soul 

For  Love,  whose  service  does  so  wound  and  heal ; 

How  should  they  crave  for  what  they  cannot  feel  ? 


From  passion  and  from  pain  enfranchised  quite, 
Alike  from  gain  and  never-stanched  Regret, 

Calm  as  the  blind  who  have  not  seen  the  light, 
The  dumb  who  hear  no  precious  voice,  and  yet 

The  sun  forever  pours  his  lambent  fire 

And  the  high  winds  are  vocal  with  desire. 


And  there  are  those  whose  fervent  souls  are  wed 
To  glorious  bodies,  panoplied  for  love, 

Born  to  hear  sweetest  words  that  can  be  said, 
To  give  and  gather  kisses,  and  to  move 

All  men  with  longing  after  them,  —  to  know 

What  flowers  of  paradise  for  lovers  grow. 


THE  BLAMELESS  PRINCE.  27 

The  Vestal,  with  her  silvery  content, 

The  Lesbian,  with  the  passion  and  the  pain,  — 

Which  creature  hath  their  one  Creator  lent 

More  light  of  heaven  ?     Who  would  dare  restrain 

The  beams  of  either  ?  who   the  radiance  mar 

Of  the  white  planet  or  the  burning  star  ? 


If  in  its  innocence  a  life  is  bound 

With  cords  that  thrall  its  birthright  and  design, 
Let  those  whose  hands  the  evil  meshes  wound 

Pray  that  it  cast  no  look  beyond  their  line  ; 
That  no  strong  voice  too  late  may  enter  in 
Its  prison-range,  to  teach  what  might  have  been. 


Was  there  no  conscious  spirit  thus  to  plead 
For  this  bright  lady,  as  the  wondering  guest 

Closed  with  his  welcomers,  and  each  took  heed 
Of  each,  and  horse  to  horse  they  rode  abreast, 

Nearing  a  fair  and  spacious  house  that  stood, 

Half  hidden,  in  the  edges  of  the  wood  ? 


28  THE   BLAMELESS   PEINCE. 

And  while,  the  last  court-tidings  running  o'er, 
Their  talk  on  this  and  that  at  random  fell, 

And  the  trains  joined  behind,  the  lady  bore 

Her  beauteous  head  askance,  yet  wist  full  well 

How  the  Prince  looked  and  spoke  ;  unwittingly, 

With  the  strange  female  sense  and  secret  eye, 


Made  of  him  there  her  subtle  estimate, 

Forecast  his  lot,  and  thought  how  all  things  flow 

To  those  who  have  a  surfeit.     Could  the  great, 
The  perfect  Queen,  she  marvelled,   truly  know 

And  love  him  at  his  value  ?     In  his  turn, 
He  read  her  face  as  't  were  a  marble  urn 


Embossed  with  Truth  and  blushful  Innocence, 
Yet  with  the  wild  Loves  carven  in  repose  ; 

And  as  he  looked  he  felt,  and  knew  not  whence, 
A  thought  like  this  come  as  the  wind  that  blows, 

"  A  face  to  lose  one's  life  for  ;  ay,  and  more, 

To  live  for !  "  —  So  they  reached  the  sculptured  door 


THE  BLAMELESS  PRINCE.  29 

And  casements  gilded  with  the  dying  light. 

That  eve  the  host  spread  out  a  stately  board, 
And  with  his  household  far  into  the  night 

Feasted  the  Prince.  The  lady,  next  her  lord, 
Drooped  like  a  musk-rose  trained  beside  a  tomb. 
Loath  was  the  guest  that  night  to  seek  his  room. 


A   IT !  wherefore  tell  again  an  oft-told  tale,  — 

That  of  the  sleeping  knight  who  lost  his  wage 
In  the  enchanted  land,  though  cased  with  mail, 
And  bore  the  sacred  shrine  an  empty  gage  ? 
How  this  thing  went  it  were  not  worth  to  view 
But  for  the  triple  coil  which  thence  outgrew ; 


30  THE  BLAMELESS  PRINCE. 

How,  with  the  mom,  the  ancient  chamberlain 
Made  off,  and  on  the  marriage  business  moved ; 

How  day  by  day  those  young  hearts  fed  amain 
Upon  the  food  of  lovers,  till  —  they  loved. 

Beneath  the  mists  of  duty  and  degree 

A  warmth  of  passion  crept  deliciously 


About  the  twain  ;  and  there,  within  the  gleam 
Of  those  gray  languid  eyes,  his  nearing  fate 

Seemed  to  the  one  a  far,  unquiet  dream. 

So  when  the  heralds  said,   "  All  things  await 

Your  princely  coming,"  the  glad  summons  broke 

Upon  him  like  a  harsh  bell's  jangling  stroke, 


And  waked  him,  and  he  knew  he  must  be  gone 
And  put  that  honeyed  chalice  quite  away  ; 

Yet  once  more  met  the  lady,  and  alone, 

It  chanced,  within  the  grounds.     The  two,  that  day, 

Lured  by  a  falling  water's  sound,  went  deep 

Beyond  the  sunlight,  in  the  forest-keep. 


THE   BLAMELESS   PEINCE.  31 

Here  from  a  range  of  wooded  uplands  leapt 

A  mountain  brook  and  far-off  meadows  sought  ; 

Now  under  firs  and  tasselled  chestnuts  crept, 
Then  on  through  jagged  rocks  a  passage  fought, 

Until  it  clove  this  shadowy  gorge  and  cool 

In  one  white  cataract,  —  with  a  dark,  broad  pool 


Beneath,  the  home  of  mottled  trout.     One  side 
Eose  the  cliff's  hollowed  height,  and  overhung 

An  open  sward  across  that  basin  wide. 

The  liberal  sun  through  slanting  larches  flung 

Rich  spots  of  gold  upon  the  tufted  ground, 

And  the  great  royal  forest  gloomed  around. 


The  Prince,  divided  from  the  world  so  far, 
Sat  with  the  lady  on  a  fallen  tree  ; 

They  looked  like  lovers,  yet  a  prison-bar 

Between  them  had  not  made  the  two  less  free. 

Only  their  eyes  told  what  they  could  not  say, 

For  still  their  lips  spoke  alien  words  that  day. 


32  THE  BLAMELESS  PRINCE. 

She  told  a  legend  of  an  early  king* 

Who  knew  the  fairy  of  this  wildwood  glen, 

And  often  sought  her  haunt,  far  off  .to  fling 
His  grandeur,  and  be  loved  like  common  men, 

He  died  long  since,  the  lady  said  ;    but  she, 

Who  could  not  die,  how  weary  she  must  be! 


They  talked  of  the  strange  beauty  of  the  spot, 
The  light  that  glinted  through  the  ancient  trees, 

Their  own  young  lives,  the  Prince's  future  lot ; 
Then  jested  with  false  laughs.  Like  tangled  bees, 

Each  other  and  themselves  they  sweetly  stung ; 

They  sung  fond  songs,  and  mocked  the  words  they  sung. 


At  last  he  hung  his  picture  by  a  chain 

About  her  neck,  and  on  it  graved  the  date. 

Her  merry  eyes  grew  soft  with  tender  pain  ; 
She  heard  him  sigh,  "  Alas,  by  what  rude  fate 

Our  lives,  like  ships  at  sea,  an  instant  meet, 

Then  part  forever  on  their  courses  fleet !  " 


• 
THE   BLAMELESS  PKINCE.  33 

And  in  sheer  pity  of  herself  she  dropped 

Her  lovely  head  ;  and,  though  with  self  she  strove, 

One  hot  tear  fell.      The  shadow,  which  had  stopped 
On  her  life's  dial,  moved  again,  and  Love 

Went  sobbing  by,  and  only  left  his  wraith  ; 

For  both  were  loyal  to  their  given  faith. 


Farewells  they  breathed  and  self-reproaches  found, 
Half  gliding  with  the  current  to  the  fall, 

Yet  struggling  for  the  shore.     Was  she  not  bound  ? 
Did  not  his  plighted  future,  like  a  wall, 

Jut  'cross  the  stream  ?    They  feared  themselves,  and  rose, 

And  through  the  forest  gained  the  mansion-close 


Unmissed,  and  parted  thus,  nor  met  anew ; 

For  on  the  morrow,  when  the  Prince  took  horse, 
The  lady  feigned  an  illness,  or  ;t  was  true,  — 

Yet  maybe  from  her  oriel  marked  his  course, 
Watching  his  plume,  that  into  distance  past, 
Like  some  dear  sail  which  sinks  from  sight  at  last. 

2*  C 


34  THE  BLAMELESS  PRINCE. 

He  rode  beneath  their  arch,  where  pennons  flared 
And  standards  with  his  colors  blazoned  in. 

Then  thousands  shouted  welcome  ;  trumpets  blared ; 
He  felt  the  glories  of  his  life  begin  ! 

Far,  far  behind,  that  eddy  in  its  stream 

Now  seemed ;    its  vanished  shores,  in  turn,  a  dream. 


Enough  ;   he  passed  the  ways  and  reached  the  Queen. 

With  pomp  and  pageantry  the  vows  were  said. 
Leave  to  the  chroniclers  the  storied  scene, 

The  church,  the  court,  the  masks  and  jousts  that  sped  ; 
Not  theirs,  but  ours,  to  follow  Love  apart, 
Where  first  the  bridegroom  held  his  bride  to  heart, 


And  saw  her  purity  and  regnant  worth 
Thus  kept  for  him  and  yielded  to  his  care. 

What  marvel  that  of  all  who  dwelt  on  earth 
He  seemed  most  fortunate  and  she  most  fair 

That  self-same  hour?  And  "By  God's  grace/'  he  thought, 

"  May  I  to  some  ignoble  end  be  brought, 


THE   BLAMELESS   PRINCE.  35 

"  Unless  I  so  reward  her  for  her  choice, 
And  shape  my  future  conduct  in  this  land 

By  her  deserving,  that  the  world's  great  voice 
Proclaim  me  not  unworthy  !     Let  my  hand 

Henceforward  make  her  tasks  its  own,  —  my  life 

Be  merged  in  this  fair  ruler,  precious  wife, 


"  The  paragon  and  glory  of  her  kind !  " 

Who  reads  his  own  heart  will  not  think  it  strange 

He  put  that  yester  romance  from  his  mind 
So  readily.     Men's  lives,  like  oceans,  change 

In  shifting  tides,  and  ebb  from  either  shore 

Till  the  strong  planet  draws  them  on  once  more. 


36  THE  BLAMELESS  PRINCE. 


A   ND  as  a  pilgrim,  shielded  by  the  wings 

Of  some  bright  angel,  crosses   perilous  ground, 
Through  unknown  ways,  and,  while  she  leads  and  sings, 

Forgets  the  past,  nor  sees  what  pits  surround 
His  footsteps,  so  the  young  Prince  cast  away 
That  self-distrust,  and  with  his  sovereign  May 

The  gladness  joined,  and  with  her  sat  in  state, 
Beneath  the  ancient  scutcheons  of  her  throne, 

And  welcome  gave,  and  led  the  revels  late  ; 
But  when  the  still  and  midnight  heavens  shone 

They  fled  the  masquers,  and  the  city's  hum 

Was  silent,  arid  the  palace  halls  grew  dumb, 

And  Love  and  Sleep  in  that  serene  eclipse 

Moved,  making  prince  and  clown  of  one  degree. 

Then  was  she  all  his  own  ;    then  from  her  lips 
He  learned  with  what  a  sweet  humility 

She,  whose  least  word  a  spacious  kingdom  ruled, 

In  Love's  free  vassalage  would  fain  be  schooled. 


THE   BLAMELESS  PRINCE.  37 

How  poor,  she  said,  her  sovereignty  seemed, 

Unless  it  made  her  richer  in  his  eye ! 
And  poor  his  life,  until  her  sunlight  beamed 

Upon  it,  said  the  Prince.  So  months  went  by ; 
They  were  a  gracious  pair ;  the  Queen  was  glad  ; 
Peace  smiled,  and  the  wide  land  contentment  had. 


And  for  a  time  the  courteous  welcome  paid 
The  chosen  consort,  and  the  people's  joy 

In  the  Queen's  joy,  kept  silent  those  who  weighed 
The  Prince's  make,  and  sought  to  find  alloy 

In  his  fine  gold  ;  but,  when  the  freshness  fled 

From  these  things  told,  some  took  new  thought  and  said 


"  Look  at  the  Queen  :  her  heart  is  wholly  set 
Upon  the  Prince  !    what  if  he  warp  her  mind 

To  errant  policies,  and  rule  us  yet 

By  proxy ?"    "What  and  if  he  prove  the  kind 

Of  trifling  gallant,"  others  said,   "to  slight 

Our  mistress,  for  each  new  and  base  delight  ? 


38  THE   BLAMELESS   PRINCE. 

"  Ay,  we  will  watch  him,  lest  he  do  her  wrong !  " 
And  his  due  station,  even  from  the  first, 

The  peers  of  haughty  rank  and  lineage  long, 
Jealous  of  one  whose  blossom  at  a  burst 

Outflamed  their  own,  begrudged  him ;   till  their  pique 

Grew  plain,  and  sent  proud,  color  to  his  cheek. 


So  now  he  fared  as  some  new  actor  fares, 

Who  through  dark  arras  gains  the  open  boards, 

Facing  the  lights,  and  feels  a  thousand  stares 

Come  full  upon  him  ;  and  the  great  throng  hoards 

Its  plaudits  ;  and,  as  he  begins  his  tale, 

His  rivals  wait  to  mock  him  if  he  fail. 


But  here  a  brave  simplicity  of  soul 

And  careless  vigilance,  by  honor  bred, 

\ 
Staj^ed  him,  and  o'er  his  actions  held  control. 

A  host  of  generous  virtues  stood  in  stead 
To  help  him  on  ;  with  patient  manliness 
He  kept  his  rank,  no  greater  and  no  less  ; 


THE  BLAMELESS  PRINCE.  39 

His  life  was  as  a  limpid  rivulet ; 

His  thoughts,  like  golden  sands,  were  through  it  seen, 
Not  on  himself  in  poor  ambition  set, 

But  on  his  chosen  country  and  the  Queen ;  * 

And  with  such  gentle  tact  he  bore  a  sense 
Of  conduct  due,  nor  took  nor  gave  offence, 


That,  as  time  went,  he  earned  their  trust,  who  first 
Withheld  it  him,  and  brought  them,  one  by  one, 

To  seek  him  for  a  comrade  ;  but  he  nursed 

His  friendships  with  such  equal  care  that  none 

Could  claim  him  as  their  own  ;  nor  was  his  word 

Of  counsel  dulled  by  being  often  heard ; 


Nor  would  he  sully  his  fresh  youth  among 
The  roisterers  and  pretty  wanton  dames 

Who  strove  to  win  him  ;  nor  with  ribald  tongue 
Joined  in  the  talk  that  round  a  palace  flames  ; 

Nor  came  and  went  alone,  save  —  'twas  his -wont 

In  his  own  land,  —  he  haply  left  the  hunt 


40  THE  BLAMELESS  PRINCE. 

On  forest  days,  and,  plunging  down  the  wood, 
There  in  the  brakes  and  copses  half  forgot 

The  part  he  bore,  and  caught  anew  the  mood 
.Of  youth,  and  felt  a  heart  for  any  lot; 

Then,  loitering  cityward  behind  the  train, 

With  fresher  courage  took  his  place  again 


His  pure  life  made  the  wits  about  the  court 

Find  in  its  very  blamelessness  a  fault 
That  lacked  the  generous  failings  of  their  sort. 

"  With  so  much  sweet,"  they  swore,  "  a  grain  of  salt 
Were  welcome !  lighter  tongue  and  freer  mood 
Were  something  more  of  man,  if  less  of  prude  !  " 


And  others  to  his  praises  would  oppose 
Suspicion  of  his  prowess,  and  they  said, 

"  Our  rose  of  princes  is  a  thornless  rose, 

A  woman's  toy  !  "  and,  when  the  months  were  sped, 

And  the  glad  Queen  was  childed  with  a  son, 

Light  jests  upon  his  mission  well  begun 


THE  BLAMELESS   PRINCE.  41 

They  bandied  ;  yet  the  Prince,  who  felt  the  sting, 
Bided  his  time.     Till  on  the  land  there  brake 

A  sudden  warfare  ;  for  that  haughty  king, 
Gathering  a  mighty  armament  to  take 

Revenge  for  his  lost  suit,  with  sword  and  flame 

Against  the  borders  on  short  pretext  came. 


Then  with  hot  haste  the  Queen's  whole  forces  poured 
To  meet  him.     With  the  call  to  horse  and  blade 

The  Prince,  deep-chafed  in  spirit,  placed  his  sword 
At  orders ;  of  the  General,  and  prayed 

A  humble  station,  but,  as  due  his  rank, 

Next  in  command  was  made,  and  led  the  flank. 


And  so  with  doubtful  poise  a  fierce  war  raged, 
Till  on  a  day  encountered  face  to  face 

The  two  chief  hosts,  and  dreadful  battle  waged 
To  close  the  issue.     In  its  opening  space 

Death  smote  the  General,  and  in  tumult  sore 

The  line  sank  back  ;  but  swiftly,  at  the  fore 


42  THE  BLAMELESS  PRINCE. 

Placing  himself,  the  Prince  right  onward  hurled 
The  strife  once  more,  and  with  his  battle-shout 

Woke  victory ;  again  his  forces  whirled 

The  hostile  troops,  and  drove  them  on  in  rout. 

The  strength  of  ten  battalions  seemed  to  yield 

Before  his  arm  ;  and  so  he  won  that  field, 


And  slew  with  his  own  hand  the  vengeful  king, 
And  with  that  death-stroke  brought  the  war  to  end, 

Conquering  the  common  foe,  and  conquering 
The  hate,  from  which  he  would  not  else  defend 

His  clear  renown  than  with  such  manful  deeds 

As  fall  to  faith  and  valor  at  their  needs. 


Again  —  this  time  the  chaplet  was  his  own  — 
The  people  wreathed  their  laurels  for  his  brow  ; 

His  horses  trod  on  flowers  ;  the  city  shone 
With  flags  of  victory,  and  none  but  now  — 

As  with  no  vaunting  mien  he  wore  his  bays  — 

Confessed  him  brave  as  good,  and  gave  their  praise. 


THE  BLAMELESS  PRINCE.  43 


T3EACE  smiled  anew  ;  the  kingdom  was  at  rest. 

Ah,  happy  Queen  !  whom  every  matron's  tongue 
Ran  envious  of,  with  such  a  consort  blest 

As  wins  the  heart  of  women,  old  arid  young  ; 
So  gallant,  yet  so  good,  the  gentlest  maid 
By  this  fair  standard  her  own  suitor  weighed. 


I  hold  the  perfect  mating  of  two  souls, 

Through  wedded  love,  to  be  the  sum  of  bliss. 

When  Earth,  this  fruit  that  ripens  as  it  rolls 

In  sunlight,  grows  more  prime,  lives  will  not  miss 

Their  counterparts,  and  each  shall  find  its  own  ; 

But  now  with  what  blind  chance  the  lots  are  thrown  ! 


44  THE  BLAMELESS  PEINCE. 

And  because  Love  sets  with  a  rising  tide 
Along  the  drift  where  much  has  gone  before 

One  holds  of  worth,  —  we  lavish  first,  beside, 
Heart,  honors,  regal  gifts,  and  love  the  more 

When  yielding  most,  —  for  this  the  Queen's  love  knew 

No  slack,  but  still  its  current  deeper  grew. 


And  because  Love  is  free,  and  follows  not 
On  gratitude,  nor  comes  from  what  is  given 

So  much  as  on  the  giving  ;  and,  I  wot, 
Partly  because  it  irks  one  to  have  thriven 

At  hands  which  seem  the  weaker,  and  should  thrive 

While  those  of  him  they  cling  to  lift  and  strive  ; 


And  partly  that  his  marriage  seemed  a  height 
Which  raised  him  from  the  passions  of  our  kind, 

Nor  with  his  own  intent  ;  and  that,  despite 
Its  clear  repose,  he  somehow  longed  to  find 

The  lower  world,  starve,  hunger,  and  be  fed 

With  joy  and  sorrow,  sweet  and  bitter  bread,  — 


THE  BLAMELESS  PRINCE.  45 

For  all  these  things  the  Prince  loved  not  the  Queen 
With  that  sufficience  which  alone  can  take 

A  rapture  in  itself  and  rest  serene  ; 

Yet  knew  not  what  his  life  lacked  that  should  make 

It  worth  to  live,  —  our  custom  has  such  art 

To  dull  the  craving  of  the  famished  heart,  — 


Perchance  had  never  known  it,  but  a  light 
Flashed  in  his  path  and  lit  a  fiery  train 

About  him  ;  else,  day  following  day,  and  night 
By  night,  through  years  his  soul  had  felt  no  pain, 

No  triumph,  but  had  shared  the  common  lull, 

Been  all  it  seemed,  as  blameless,  true,  and  dull. 


And  yet  in  one  fair  woman  beauty,  youth, 
And  passion  were  united,  and  her  love 

Was  framed  about  his  likeness.     Some,  forsooth, 
May  shift  their  changeful  worship  as  they  rove, 

Or  clowns  or  princes  ;  but  her  fancy  slept, 

Dreaming  upon  that  picture  which  she  kept, 


46  THE   BLAMELESS   PRINCE. 

A  secret  pain  and  pleasance.     With  what  strife 
Men  sought  her  love  she  wist  not,  for  the  prize 

Was  not  for  them.     She  lived  a  duteous  life. 
;T  was  something  thus  to  let  her  constant  eyes 

Feed  on  his  face,  to  hear  his  name,  —  to  know 

He  lived,  had  walked  those  paths,  had  loved  her  so. 


There  is  a  painting  of  a  youthful  monk 

Who  sits  within  a  walled  and  cloistered  nook, 

His  breviary  closed,  and  listens,  sunk 
In  day-dreams,  to  -a  viol,  —  with  a  look 

Of  strange  regret  fixed  on  two  pairing  doves, 

Who  find  their  fate  and  simple  natural  loves. 


Yet  bonds  of  gold,  linked  hands,   and  chancel  vows, 
Even  spousal  beds,  do  not  a  marriage  make. 

When  such  things  chain  the  soul  that  never  knows 
Love's  mating,  little  vantage  shall  it  take, 

Wandering  with  alien  feet  throughout  the  wide, 

Hushed  temple,  over  those  who  pine  outside! 


THE  BLAMELESS  PKINCE.  47 

So  this  young  wife  forecast  her  horoscope 
And  found  its  wedded  lines  of  little  worth, 

Yet  owned  not  to  herself  what  hopeless  hope 
Or  dumb  intent  made  green  her  spot  of  earth. 

So  passed  three  changeless  years,  as  such  years  be  ; 

At  last  the  old  lord  died,  and  left  her  free, 


The  mistress  of  his  rank  and  broad  estate, 

In  honor  of  her  constancy.     Then  life 
Rushed  back ;  she  saw  her  beauty  grown  more  great, 

Ripened  as  if  a  summer  field  were  rife 
With  grain,  the  harvester  neglectful,   since 
Hers  was  no  mean  desire  that  sought  a  prince, 


Eager  to  make  his  birth  and  bloom  her  own, 
Or  reign  a  wanton  favorite.     But  she   thought, 

"  I  might  have  loved  and  clung  to  him  alone, 
Am  fairer  than  he  knew  me  ;  yet,  if  aught 

Of  rarity  make  sweet  my  hair  and  lips, 

What  sweetness  hath  the  honey  that  none  sips  ?  " 


48  THE  BLAMELESS  PRINCE. 

After  her  time  of  mourning  she  grew  bold 
And  said,  "  Once  let  me  look  upon  his  face! 

The  Queen  will  take  no  harm  if  I  behold 

What  all  the  world  can  see."     She  left  her  place, 

And  with  a  kinsman,  at  a  palace  rout, 

Followed  the  long  line  passing  in  and  out 


Before  the  dais.     The  Prince's  eyes  and  hers 
Met  like  the  clouds  that  lighten.     In  a  breath 

Swift  memory  flamed  between  them,  as,  when  stirs 
No  wind,  and  the  dark  sky  is  still  as  death, 

One  lance  of  living  fire  is  hurled  across  ; 

Then  comes  the  whirlwind,  and  the  forests  toss ! 


Yet  as  she  bent  her  beauteous  shoulders  down, 
And  heard  the  kindly  greeting  of  the  Queen, 

He  spoke  such  words  as  one  who  wears  a  crown 
Speaks,  and  no  more  ;  and  with  a  low,  proud  mien 

She  murmured  answer,  from  the  presence  past 

Lightly,  nor  any  look  behind  her  cast. 


THE   BLAMELESS   PKINCE.  49 

In  that  first  glimpse  each  read  the  other's  heart ; 

But  not  without  a  summoning  of  himself 
To  judgment  did  the  Prince  forever  part 

From  truth  and  fealty.     As  he  pondered,  still 
With  stronger  voice  Love  claimed  a  debt  unpaid, 
And  youth's  hot  pulses  would  not  be  gainsaid. 


She  with  a  fierce,  full  gladness  saw  again 
Their  broken  threads  of  love  begin  to  spin 

In  one  red  strand,  and  let  it  guide  her  then, 
Whether  it  led  to  danger  or  to  sin  ; 

And  shortly,  on  the  morrow,  took  the  road, 

And  gained  her  country-seat,  and  there  abode. 


The  Prince,  a  bright  near  morning,  mounted  horse, 
Garbed  for  the  hunt,  and  left  the  town,  and  through 

The  deep-pathed  wood  rode  on  a  wayward  course, 
With  a  set  purpose  in  him,  —  though  he  knew 

It  not,  and  let  his  steed  go  where  it  might ; 

For  this  sole  thought  pursued  him  since  that  night :  — 


50  THE  BLAMELESS   PEINCE. 

"  What  recompense  for  me  who  have  not  sown 
The  seed  and  reaped  the  harvest  of  my  days  ? 

Youth  passes  like  a  bird  ;  but  love  alone 

Makes  wealth  of  riches,  power  of  rank,  men's  praise 

A  goodly  sound.     Of  such  things  have  I  aught  ? 

There  is  a  foil  to  make  their  substance  naught. 


"What  were  his  gifts  who  made  each  lovely  thing, 
Yet  lacked  the  gift  of  love  ?  or  what  the  fame 

Of  some  dwarfed  poet,  whose  numbers  still  we  sing, 
If  no  fair  woman  trembled  where  he  came  ? 

The  beggar  dying  in  ditch  is  not  accurst 

If  love  once  crowned  him  !    Fate  may  do  her  worst. 


"  For  Age  that  erst  has  drawn  the  wine  of  love 
And  filled  its  birth-cup  to  the  jewelled  brim, 

And,  while  it  sparkled,  held  it  high  above, 

And  drained  it  slowly,  swiftly,  —  then,  though  dim 

Grow  the  blurred  eyes,  and  comfort  and  desire 

Are  but  the  ashes  of  their  ancient  fire, 


THE   BLAMELESS   PEINCE.  51 

"Yet  will  it  bide  its  exit  in  content, 

Remembering  the  past,  nor  grudge,  with  hoar 

And  ravenous  look,  the  youth  we  have  not  spent. 
No  earthly  sting  has  power  to  harm  it  more  ; 

It  lived  and  loved,  was  young,  and  now  is  old, 

And  life  is  rounded  like  a  ring  of  gold." 


Thereat  with  sudden  rein  the  Prince  wheeled  horse, 
And  sought  a  pathway  that  he  long  had  known 

Yet  shunned  till  now.     Beside  a  water-course 
It  led  him  for  a  winding  league  and  lone  ; 

Then  made  a  rugged  circuit,  —  where  the  brook 

Down  a  steep  ledge  of  rock  its  plunges  took,  — 


And  ended  at  an  open  sward,  the  same 

Against  whose  edge  the  leaping  cataract  fell 

From  those  high  cliffs.     Five  years  ago  he  came 
To  bury  youth  and  love  within  that  dell, 

And,  as  again  he  reached  the  spot  he  sought, 

Truth,  fame,  his  child,  the  Queen,  were  all  as  naught. 


52  THE  BLAMELESS  PEINCE. 

Dismounting  then,  he  pushed  afoot,  between 
The  alder  saplings,  to  the  outer  wood, 

The  grounds,  the  garden-walks,  and  found,  unseen, 
A  private  door,  nor  tarried  till  he  stood 

Within  the  threshold  of  my  Lady's  room,  — 

A  shadowed  nook,  all  stillness  and  perfume. 


Jasmine  and  briony  the  lattice  climbed, 
The  rose  and  honeysuckle  trailed  above ; 

'T  was  such  an  hour  as  poets  oft  have  rhymed, 
And  such  a  chamber  as  all  lovers  love. 

He  found  her  there,  and  at  her  footstool  knelt. 

Each  in  the  other's  fancies  had  so  dwelt, 


That,  as  one  sees  for  days  a  sweet  strange  face, 
Until  at  night  in  dreams  he  does  caress 

Its  owner,  and  next  morning  in  some  place 
Meets  her,  and  wonders  if  she  too  can  guess 

How  near  and  known  he  thinks  her,  —  in  this  wise 

They  read  one  story  in  each  other's  eyes. 


THE  BLAMELESS  PRINCE,  53 

Her  thick  hair  falling  from  its  lilies  hid 

Their  first  long  kiss  of  passion  and  content. 

He   heard  her  soft,  glad  murmur,  as  she  slid 
Within  his  hold,  and  'gainst  his  bosom  leant, 

Whispering  :  "  At  last !  at  last !  the  years  were  sore." 

"  Their  spite,"  he  said,  "  shall  do  us  wrong  no  more  !  " 


What  else,  when  mingled  longings  swell  full-tide, 
And  the  heart's  surges  leap  their  bounds  for  aye, 

And  fell  the  landmarks  ?     What  but  fate  defied, 
Time  clutched,  and  any  future  held  at  bay  ? 

They  recked  not  of  the  thorn,  but  seized   the  flower ; 

For  all  the  sin,  their  joy  was  great  that  hour. 


And  since,  for  all  the  joy,  theirs  was  a  sin 

That  baned  them  with  one  bane  ;  since  many  men 

Had  sought  her  love,  but  one  alone  could  win 
That  largess,  with  his  blameless  life  till  then 

Inviolate  ;  • —  they  bargained  for  love's  sake 

No  severance  of  their  covert  league  to  make. 


54  THE   BLAMELESS   PRINCE. 

Yet,  since  nobility  compelled  them  still, 

They  pledged  themselves  for  honor's  sake  to  hold 

This  hidden  unto  death  ;  at  cither's  will 
To  meet  and  part  in  secret ;  to  infold 

In  their  own  hearts  their  trespass  and  delight, 

Nor  look  their  love,  but  guard  it  day  or  night. 


OO  fell  the  blameless  Prince.     That  day  more  late 

Than  wont  he  reached  the  presence  of  the  Queen, 
Deep  in  a  palace  chamber,  where  she  sate 

Fondling  his  child.     The  sunset  lit  her  mien, 
And  made  a  saintly  glory  in  her  -hair  ; 
An  awe  came  on  him  as  he  saw  her  there. 


THE   BLAMELESS  PRINCE.  55 

And,  because  perfect  love  suspecteth  not, 

She  found  no  blot  upon  his  brow.     'T  was  good 

To  take  a  pleasure  in  her  wedded  lot, 

Arid  watch  the  infant  creeping  where  he  stood  ; 

And,  as  he  bent  his  head,  she  little  wist 

What  kisses  burned  upon  the  lips  she  kissed. 


And  he,  still  kind  and  wise  in  his  decline, 
Seeing  her  trustful  calm,  had  little  heart 

To  shake  it.  So  his  conduct  gave  no  sign 
Of  broken  faith  ;  no  slurring  of  his  part 

Betrayed  him  to  the  courtiers  or  the  wife. 

Perhaps  a  second  spring-time  in  his  life 


"Waxed  green,  and  fresh-bloomed  love  renewed  again 
The  joys  that  light  our  youth  and  leave  our  prime, 

And  women  found  him  tenderer,  and  men 
A  blither,  heartier  comrade  ;  but,  meantime, 

What  hidden  gladness  made  his  visage  bright 

They  could  not  guess  ;  nor  with  what  craft  and  sleight 


56  THE  BLAMELESS  PRINCE. 

The  paramours,  in  fealty  to  that  Love 

Who  laughs  at  locks  and  walks  in  hooded  guise, 
Met  here  and  there,  yet  made  no  careless  move, 

Nor  bared  their  strategy  to  cunning  eyes. 
And  though,  a  portion  of  the  winter  year, 
The  Queen's  own  summons  brought  her  rival  near 


The  Prince,  among  the  ladies  of  her  train, 

Then,  meeting  face  to  face  at  morn  and  night, 

They  were  as  strangers.  If  it  was  a  pain 
To  pass  so  coldly  on,  in  love's  despite, 

It  was  a  joy  to  hear  each  other's  tone, 

And  keep  the  life-long  secret  still  their  own. 


Once  having  dipped  their  palms  they  drank  full  draught, 
And,  like  the  desert-parched,  alone  at  first 

Felt  the  delight  of  drinking,  while  they  quaffed 
As  if  the  waters  could  not  slake  their  thirst  ; 

That  nicer  sense  unreached,  when  down  we  fling, 

And  view  the  green  oasis  round  the  spring. 


THE  BLAMELESS  PKINCE.  57 

And,  in  that  first  bewilderment,  perchance 

The  Prince's  lapse  had  caught  some  peering  eye, 

But  that  his  long  repute,  and  maintenance 
Against  each  test,  had  put  suspicion  by. 

Now  no  one  watched  or  doubted  him.     So  long 

His  inner  strength  had  made  his  outwork  strong, 


So  long  had  smoothed  his  face,  'twas  light  to  take, 
From  what  had  been  his  blamelessness,  a  mask. 

And  still,  for  honor's  and  the  country's  sake, 
He  set  his  hands  to  every  noble  task  ; 

Held  firmly  yet  his  place  among  the  great, 

Won  by  the  sword  and  saviour  of  the  state  ; 


And  as  in  war,  so  now  in  civic  peace, 
He  led  the  people  on  to  higher  things, 

And  fostered  Art  and  Song,  and  brought  increase 
Of  Knowledge,  gave  to  Commerce  broader  wings, 

And  with  his  action  strengthened  fourfold  more 

The  weight  his  precept  in  their  councils  bore. 
3* 


58  THE   BLAMELESS   PRINCE. 

Then  as  the  mellow  years  their  fruitage  brought, 
And  fair  strong  children  made  secure  the  throne, 

He  reared  them  wisely,  needfully  ;  and  sought 
Their  good,  the  Queen's  desire,  and  these  alone. 

Himself  so  pure,  that  fathers  bade  their  sons, 

"  Observe  the  Prince,  who  every  license  shuns  ; 


"  Who,  being  most  brave,  is  purest !  "  Wedded  wives, 
Happy  themselves,  the  Queen  still  happiest  found, 

And  plighted  maids  still  wished  their  lovers'  lives 
Conformed  to  his.     Such  manhood  wrapt  hirn  round, 

So  winsome  were  his  grace  and  knightly  look, 

The  dames  at  court  their  lesser  spoil  forsook, 


And  wove  a  net  to  snare  him,  and  their  mood 
Grew  warmer  for  his  coldness  ;  and  the  hearts 

Of  those  most  heartless  beat  with  quicker  blood, 
Foiled  of  his  love  ;  yet,  heedless  of  their  arts, 

Courteous  to  all,  he  went  his  way  content, 

Nor  ever  from  his  princely  station  bent. 


THE  BLAMELESS   PRINCE.  59 

"What  is  this  charm/7  they  asked,  "that  makes  him 
chaste 

Beyond  all  men?"  and  wist  not  what  they  said. 
The  common  folk, — because  the  Prince  had  cased 

His  limbs  in  silver  mail,  and  on  his  head 
Worn  snowy  plumes,  and,  covered  thus  in  white, 
Shone  in  the  fiercest  turmoil  of  the  fight ; 

And  mostly  for  the  whiteness  of  his  soul, 

Which  seemed  so  virginal  and  all  unblurred,  — 

They  called  him  the  White  Prince,  and  through  the  whole 
True  land  the  name  became  a  household  word. 

"  God  save   the  Queen  !  "  the  loyal  people  sung, 

u  And  the  White  Prince  !  "  came  back  from  every  tongue. 

So  passed  the  stages  of  a  glorious  reign. 

The  Queen  in  tranquil  goodness  reached  her  noon  ; 
The  Prince  wore  year  by  year  his  double  chain  ; 

His  mistress  kept  her  secret  like  the  moon, 
That  hides  one  half  its  splendor  and  its  shade  ; 
And  newer  times  and  men  their  entrance  made. 


60  THE  BLAMELESS  PRINCE. 

But  did  these  two,  who  took  their  secret  fill 
Of  stolen  waters,  find  the  greater  bliss 

They  sought  ?     At  first,  to  meet  and  part  at  will 
Was,  for  the  peril's  sake,  a  happiness ; 

Ay,  even  the  sense  of  guilt  made  such  delights 

More  worth,  as  one  we  call  the  wisest  writes. 


But  with  the  later  years  Time  brought  about 
His  famed  revenges.     Not  that  love  grew  cold, 

The  lady  never  found  a  cause  to  doubt 

That  with  the  Prince  his  passion  kept  its  hold ; 

And  while  they:  loved  are  loyal  to  them  yet, 

'T  is  not  the  wont  of  women  to  regret. 


Yet  Jt  was  her  lot  to  live  as  one  whose  wealth 
Is  in  another's  name  ;  to  sigh  at  fate 

That  hedged  her  from  possession,  save  by  stealth 
And  trespass  on  the  guileless  Queen's  estate  ; 

To  see  her  lover  farthest  when  most  near, 

Nor  dare  before  the  world  to  make  him  dear. 


THE  BLAMELESS  PRINCE.  61 

To  see  her  perfect  beauty  but  a  lure, 

That  made  men  list  to  follow  where  she  went, 

And  kneel  to  woo  the  hand  they  deemed  so  pure, 
And  hunger  for  her  pitying  mouth's  consent ; 

Calling  her  hard,  who  was  so  gently  made, 

Nor  found  delight  in  all  their  homage  paid. 


Nor  ever  yet  was  woman's  life  complete 

Till  at  her  breast  the  child  of  him  she  loved 

Made  life  and  love  one  name.     Though  love  be  sweet, 
And  passing  sweet,  till  then  its  growth  has  proved 

In  woman's  paradise  a  sterile  tree, 

Fruitless,  though  fair  its  leaves  and  blossoms  be. 


Meanwhile  the  Prince  put  on  his  own  disguise 
Holding  it  naught  for  what  it  kept  secure, 

Nor  wore  it  only  in  his  comrades'  eyes  ; 
Beneath  this  cloak  and  seeming  to  be  pure 

He  felt  the  thing  he  seemed.     For  some  brief  space 

His  conscience  took  the  reflex  of  his  face. 


62  THE  BLAMELESS  PRINCE. 

But  lastly  through  his  heart  there  crept  a  sense 
Of  falseness,  like  a  worm  about  the  core, 

Until  he  grew  to  loathe  the  long  pretence 

Of  blamelessness,  and  would  the  mask  he  wore 

By  some  swift  judgment  from  his  face  were  torn, 

So  might  the  outer  quell  the  inner  scorn. 


Such  self-contempt  befell  him,  when  the  feast 

Rang  with  his  praise,  he  blushed  from  nape  to  crown, 

And  ground  his  teeth  in  silence,  yet  had  ceased 
To  bear  it,  crying,   "  Crush  me  not  quite  down, 

Who  ask  your  scorn,  as  viler  than  you  deem 

Your  vilest,  and  am  nothing  that  I  seem  !  " 


With  such  a  cry  his  conscience  riotous 

Had  thrown,  perchance,  the  burden  on  it  laid, 

But  love  and  pity  held  his  voice  ;  and  thus 
The  paramours  their  constant  penance  made  • 

False  to  themselves,  before  the  world  a  lie, 

Yet  each  for  each  had  cast  the  whole  world  by. 


THE  BLAMELESS  PRINCE.  63 

In  those  transcendent  moments,  when  the  fire 
Leapt  up  between  them  rapturous  and  bright 

One  incompleteness  bred  a  wild  desire 
To  let  the  rest  have  token  of  its  light  ; 

So  natural  seemed  their  love,  —  so  hapless,  too, 

They  might  not  make  it  glorious  to  view, 


And  speak  their  joy.     'T  was  all  as  they  had  come, 
They  two,  in  some  far  wild  wood  wandering  mazed, 

Upon  a  mighty  cataract,  whose  foam 

And  splendor  ere  that  time  had  never  dazed 

Men's  eyes,  nor  any  hearing  save  their  own 

Could  listen  to  its  immemorial  moan, 


And  felt  amid  their  triumph  bitter  pain 

That  only  for  themselves  was  spread  that  sight. 

Oft,  when  his  comrades  sang  a  tender  strain, 
And  music,  talk,  and  wine,  outlasted  night, 

Rose  in  the  Prince's  throat  this  sudden  tide, 

"And  I, — I  also  know  where  Love  doth  hide!" 


64  THE  BLAMELESS  PEINCE. 

Yet  still  the  seals  were  ever  on  his  mouth  ; 

No  heart,  save  one,  his  joy  and  dole  might  share. 
Passed  on  the  winter's  rain  and  summer's  drouth  ; 

Friends  more  and  more,  and  lovers  true,  the  pair, 
Though  life  its  passion  and  its  youth  had  spent, 
Still  kept  their  faith  as  seasons  came  and  went. 


E  final  hour,  with  stammering  voice  and  halt, 
The  Prince  said:  "Dear,  for  you,— whose  only  gain 
Was  in  your  love  that  made  such  long  default 

To  self,  —  Heaven  deems  you  sinless!  but  a  pain 
Is  on  my  soul,  and  shadow  of  guilt  threefold  : 
First,  in  your  fair  life,  fettered  by  my  hold ; 


THE  BLAMELESS  PEINCE.  65 

"  Then  in  the  ceaseless  wrong  I  do  the  Queen, 
Who  worships  me,  unknowing ;  worse  than  all, 

To  wear  before  the  world  this  painted  mien  ! 
See  to  it :  on  my  head  some  bolt  will  fall ! 

We  have  sweet  memories  of  the  good  years  past, 

Now  let  this  secret  league  no  longer  last." 


So  of  her  love  and  pure  unselfishness 

She  yielded  at  his  word,  yet  fain  would  pray 

For  one  more  tryst,  one  day  of  tenderness, 

Where  first  their  lives  were  mated.     Such  a  day 

Found  them  intwined  together,  met  to  part, 

Lips  pressed  to  lips,  and  voiceless  grief  at  heart. 


And  last  the  Prince  drew  off  his  signet-stone, 
And  gave  it  to  his  mistress,  —  as  he  rose 

To  shut  the  book  of  happy  moments  gone, 
For  so  all  earthly  pleasures  find  a  close, — 

Yet  promised,  at  her  time  of  utmost  need 

And  summons  by  that  token,  to  take  heed 


66  THE  BLAMELESS  PRINCE. 

And  do  her  will.     "And  from  this  hour/7  he  said, 
"  No  woman's  kiss  save  one  my  lips  shall  know." 

So  left  her  pale  and  trembling  there,  and  fled, 
Nor  looked  again,  resolved  it  must  be  so  ; 

But  somewhere  gained  his  horse,  and  through  the  wood 

Moved  homeward  with  his  thoughts,  a  phantom  brood 


That  turned  the  long  .past  over  in  his  mind, 
Poising  its  .good  and  evil,  while  a  haze 

Gathered  around  him,  of  that  sombre  kind 
Which  follows  from  a  place  where  many  days 

Have  seen  us  go  and  come ;  and  even  if  sore 

Has  been  our  sojourn  there,  we  feel  the  more 


That  parting  is  a  sorrow,  —  though  we  part 
"With  those  who  loved  us  not,  or  go  forlorn 

From  pain  that  ate  its  canker  in  the  heart ; 

But  when  we  leave  the  paths  where  Love  has  borne 

His  garlands  to  us,  Pleasure  poured  her  wine, 

Where  life  was  wholly  precious  and  divine, 


THE   BLAMELESS   PRINCE.  67 

Then  go  we  forth  as  exiles.     In  such  wise 

The  loathful  Prince  his  homeward  journey  made, 

Brooding,  and  marked  not  with  his  downcast  eyes 
The  shadow  that  within  the  coppice  shade 

Sank  darker  still  ;  but  at  the  horse's  gait 

Kept  slowly  on,  and  rode  to  meet  his  fate 

For  from  the  west  a  silent  gathering  drew, 

And  hid  the  summer  sky,  and  brought  swift  night 

Across  that  shire,  and  went  devouring  through 
The  strong  old  forest,  stronger  in  its  might. 

With  the  first  sudden  crash  the  Prince's  steed 

Took  the  long  stride,  and  galloped  at  good  need. 

The  wild  pace  tallied  with  the  rider's  mood, 
And  on  he  spurred,  and  even  now  had  reached 

The  storm  that  charged  the  borders  of  the  wood, 
When    one    great   whirlwind    seized    an   oak   which 
bleached 

Across  his  path,  and  felled  it  ;  and  its  fall 

.Bore  down  the  Prince  beneath  it,  horse  and  all. 


68  THE   BLAMELESS   PRINCE. 

There  lay  he  as  he  fell ;  but  the  mad  horse 

Plunged  out  in  fright,  and  reared  upon  his  feet, 

And  for  the  city  struck  a  headlong  course, 
With  clatter  of  hoof  along  the  central  street, 

Nor  halted  till,  thus  masterless  arid  late, 

Bleeding  and  torn,  he  reached  the  palace-gate. 


Then  rose  a  clamor  and  the  tidings  spread, 
And  servitors  and  burghers  thronged  about, 

Crying,  "The  Prince's  horse!  the  Prince  is  dead!7' 
Till  on  the  courser's  track  they  sallied  out, 

And  came  upon  the  fallen  oak,  and  found 

The  Prince  sore  maimed  and  senseless  on  the  ground. 


Then  wattling  boughs,  th'ey  raised  him  in  their  hold, 
And  after  that  rough  litter,  and  before, 

The  people  went  in  silence  ;   but  there  rolled 
A  fiery  vapor  from  the  lights  they  bore, 

Like  some  red  serpent  huge  along  the  road. 

Even  thus  they  brought  him  back  to  his  abode. 


THE   BLAMELESS   PRINCE.  69 

There  the  pale  Queen  fell  on  him  at  the  porch, 
Dabbling  her  robes  in  blood,  and  made  ado, 

And  over  all  his  henchman  held  a  torch, 

Until  with  reverent  steps  they  took  him  through  ; 

And  the  doors  closed,  and  midnight  from  the  domes 

Was  sounded,  and  the  people  sought  their  homes. 


But  on  the  morrow,  like  a  dreadful  bird, 
Flew  swift  the  tidings  of  this  sudden  woe, 

And  reached  the  Prince's  paramour,  who  heard 
Aghast,  as  one  who  crieth  loud,    "  The  blow 

Is  fallen  !  I  am  the  cause  !  "  —  as  one  who  saith, 

"  Now  let  me  die,  whose  hands  have  given  death 


So  gat  her  to  the  town  remorsefully, 

White  with  a  mortal  tremor  and  the  sin 

Which  sealed  her  mouth,  and  waited  what  might  be, 
And  watched  the  doors  she  dared  not  pass  within. 

Alas,  poor  lady  !    that  lone  week  of  fears 

Outlived  the  length  of  all  her  former  years. 


70  THE   BLAMELESS   PRINCE. 

Some  days  the  Prince,  upon  the  skirts  of  death, 
Spake  not  a  word  nor  heard  the  Queen's  one  prayer, 

Nor  turned  his  face,  nor  felt  her  loving-  breath, 
Nor  saw  his  children  when  they  gathered  there, 

But  rested  dumb  and  motionless  ;  and  so 

The  Queen  grew  weak  with  watching  and  her  woe, 


Till  from  his  bed  they  bore  her  to  her  own 
A  little.     In  the  middle-tide  of  night, 

Thereafter,  he  awoke  with  moan  on  moan, 
And  saw  his  death  anigh,  and   said  outright, 

"I  had  all  things,  but  love  was  worth  them  all!" 

Then  sped  they  for  the  Queen,  yet  ere  the  call 


Reached  her,  he  cried  once  more,  "  Too  late  !  too  late  !  " 
And  at  those  words,  before  they  led  her  in, 

Came  the  sure  dart  of  him  that  lay  in  wait. 

The  Prince  was  dead  :  what  goodness  and  what  sin 

Died  with  him  were  untold.     At  sunrise  fell 

Across  the  capital  his  solemn  knell. 


THE   BLAMELESS  PRINCE.  71 

All  respite  it  forbade,  and  joyance  thence, 
To  one  for  whom  his  passion  till  the  last 

Wrought  in  the  dying  Prince.     Her  wan  suspense 
Thus  ended,  a  great  fear  upon  her  passed. 

"I  was  the  cause!  "  she  moaned  from  day  to  day, 

"  Now  let  me  bear  the  penance  as  I  may  !  " 


So  with  her  whole  estate  she  sought  and  gained 
A  refuge  in  a  nunnery  close  at  view, 

And  there  for  months  withdrew  her,  and  remained 
In  tears  and  prayers.     Anon  a  sickness  grew 

Upon  her,  and  her  face  the  ghost  became 

Of  what  it  was,  the  same  and  not  the  same. 


72  THE  BLAMELESS  PEINCE. 


OO  died  the  blameless  Prince.     The  spacious  land 

Was  smitten  in  his  death,  and  such  a  wail 
Arose,  as  when  the  midnight  angel's  hand 

Was  laid  on  Egypt.     Gossips  ceased  their  tale, 
Or  whispered  of  his  goodness,  and  were  mute  ; 
No  sound  was  heard  of  viol  and  of  lute  ; 

The  streets  were  hung  with  black  ;    the  artisan 
.Forsook  his  forge  ;    the  artist  dropped  his  brush  ; 

The  tradesmen  closed  their  windows.     Man  with  man 
Struck  hands  together  in  the  first  deep  hush 

Of  grief;  or,  where  the  dead  Prince  lay  in  state, 

Spoke  of  his  life,  so  blameless,  pure,  and  great. 

t 
But  when,  within  the  dark  cathedral  vault, 

They  joined  his  ashes  to  the  dust  of  kings, 
No  royal  pomp  was  shown  ;  for  Death  made  halt 

Above  the  palace  yet,  on  dusky  wings, 
Waiting  to  gain  the  Queen,  who  still  was  prone 
Along  the  couch  where  haply  she  had   thrown, 


THE   BLAMELESS  PEINCE.  73 

At  knowledge  of  the  end,  her  stricken  frame. 

With  visage  pale  as  in  a  mortal  swound 
She  stayed,  nor  slept,  nor  wept,  till,  weeping,  came 

The  crown-prince  and  besought  her  to  look  round 
And  speak  unto  her  children.     Then  she  said  : 
"Hereto  no  grief  has  fallen  on  our  head; 


"  Now  all  our  earthly  portion  in  one  mass 
Is  loosed  against  us  with  this  single  stroke  ! 

Yet  we  are  Queen,  and  still  must  live,  —  alas  !  — 
As  he  would  have  us."     Even  as  she  spoke 

She  wept,  and  mended  thence,  yet  bore  the  face 

Of  one  whose  fate  delays  but  for  a  space. 


Thenceforth  she  worked  and  waited  till  the  call 
Of  Heaven  should  close  the  labor  and  the  pause. 

Months,  seasons  passed,  yet  evermore  a  pall 

Hung  round  the   court.     The  sorrow  and  the  cause 

Were  always  with  her  ;  after  things  were  tame 

Beside  the  shadow  of  his  deeds  and  fame. 

4 


74  THE   BLAMELESS   PRINCE. 

Her  palaces  and  parks  seemed  desolate  ; 

No  joy  was  left  in  sky  or  street  or  field  ; 
No  age,  "she  thought,  would  see  the  Prince's  mate  : 

What  matchless  hand  his  knightly  sword  could  wield  ? 
The  world  had  lost,  this  royal  widow  said, 
Its  one  bright  jewel  when  the  Prince  was  dead. 


So  that  his  fame  might  be  enduring  there 

For  many  a  reign,  and  sacred  through  the  land, 

She  gathered  bronze  and  lazuli,  and  rare 

Swart  marbles,  while  her  cunning  artists   planned 

A  stately  cenotaph,  —  and  bade  them  place 

Above  its  front  the  Prince's  form  and  face, 


Sculptured,  as  if  in  life.  But  the  wan  Queen, 
Watching  the  work  herself,  would  somewhat  lure 

Her  heart  from  plaining  ;  till,  behind  a  screen, 
The  tomb  was  finished,  glorious  and  pure, 

Even  like  the  Prince  :  and  they  proclaimed  a  day 

When  the  Queen's  hand  should  draw  its  veil  away. 


THE  BLAMELESS  PKINCE.  75 

It  chanced,  the  noon  before,  she  bade  them  fetch 
Her  equipage,  and  with  her  children  rode 

Beyond  the  city  walls,  across  a  stretch 
Of  the  green  open  country,  where  abode 

Her  subjects,  happy  in  the  field  and  grange, 

And  with  their  griefs,  that  took  a  meaner  range, 


Content.     But  as.  her  joyless  vision  dwelt 
On  beauty  that  so  failed  her  wound  to  heal, 

She  marked  the  Abbey's  ancient  pile,  and  felt 
A  longing  at  its  chapel-shrine  to  kneel, 

To  pray,  and  think  awhile  on  Heaven,  —  her  one 

Sole  passion,  now  the  Prince  had  thither  gone. 


She  reached  the  gate,  and  through  the  vestibule 
The  nuns,  with  reverence  for  the  royal   sorrow, 

Led  to  the  shrine,  and  left  her  there  to  school 
Her  heart  for  that  sad  pageant  of  the  morrow. 

0,  what  deep  sighs,  what  piteous  tearful  pra}rers, 

What  golden  grief-blanched  hair  strewn  unawares  ! 


76  THE  BLAMELESS  PRINCE. 

Anon  her  coming  through  the  place  was  sped, 
And,  when  from  that  lone  ecstasy  she  rose, 

The  saintly  Abbess  held  her  steps,  and  said : 

"  God  rests  those,  daughter,  who  in  others'  woes 

Forget  their  own  !     In  yonder  corridor 

A  sister-sufferer  lies,  and  will  no  more 


"  Pass  through  her  door  to  catch  the  morning's  breath  : 
A  worldling  once,  the  chamberlain's  young  wife  ; 

But  now  a  pious  novice,  meet  for  death, 

She  prays  to  see  your  face  once  more  in  life." 

"  She,  too,  is  widowed,"  thought  the  Queen.     Aloud 

She  answered,  "  I  will  visit  her,"  and  bowed 


Her  head,  and,  following,  reached  the  room  where  lay 
One  that  had  wronged  her  so  ;  and  shrank  to  see 

That  beauteous  pallid  face,  so  pined  away, 

And  the  starved  lips  that  murmured  painfully, 

"I  have  a  secret  none  but  she  may  hear." 

At  the  Queen's  sign,  they  two  were  left  anear. 


THE  BLAMELESS  PRINCE.  77 

With  that  the  dying  rushed  upon  her  speech, 
As  one  condemned,  who  gulps  the  poisoned  wine 

Nor  pauses,  lesi  to  see  it  stand  at  reach 

Were  crueller  still.     "  Madam,  I  sought  a  sign/7 

She  cried,  "  to  know  if  God  would  have  me  make 

Confession,  and  to  you  !  now  let  me  take 


"  This  meeting  as  the  sign,  and  speak,  and  die!" 
"  Child/7  said  the  Queen,  "your  years  are  yet  too  few. 

See  how  I  live,  —  and  yet  what  sorrows  lie 

About  my  heart."  —  "I  know,  —  the  world  spake  true  ! 

You  too  have  loved  him  ;  ay,  he  seems  to  stand 

Between  us  !     Queen,  you  had  the  Prince's  hand, 


"  But  not  his  love  !  "     Across  the  good  Queen's  brow 
A  flame  of  anger  reddened,  as  when  one 

Meets  unprepared  a  swift  and  ruthless  blow, 
But  instant  paled  to  pity,  as  she  thought, 

"  She  wanders  :  Ji  is  the  fever  at  her  brain  !  " 

And  looked  her  thought.     The  other  cried  again  : 


78  THE  BLAMELESS  PRINCE. 

"  Yes  !     I  am  ill  of  body  and  soul   indeed, 
Yet  this  was  as  I  say.     0,  not  for  me 

Pity,  from  you  who  wear  the  widow's  weed, 

Unknowing  !  " — "  Woman,  whose  could  that  love  be, 

If  not  all  mine  ?  ';     The  other,  with  a  moan, 

Rose  in -her  bed:   the  pillow,  backward  thrown, 


Was  darkened  with  the  torrent  of  her  hair. 

"  'T  was  hers,"  she  wailed,  —  "  'twas  hers  who  loved 

him  best.'; 
Then  tore  apart  her  night-robe,  and  laid  bare 

Her  flesh,  and  lo  !  against  her  poor  white  breast 
Close  round  her  gloomed  a  shift  of  blackest  serge, 
Fearful,  concealed!  —  "I  might  not  sing  his  dirge," 


She  said,  "  nor  moan  aloud  and  bring  him  shame, 
Nor  haunt  his  tomb  and  cling  about  the  grate, 

But  this  I  fashioned  when  the  tidings  came 
That  he  was  dead  and  I  must  expiate, 

Being  left,  our  double  sin  !  "     In  the  Queen's  heart 

The  tiger  —  that  is  prisoned  at  life's  start 


THE  BLAMELESS  PRINCE.  79 

In  mortals,  though  perchance  it  never  wakes 

From  its  mute  sleep  —  began  to  rouse  and  crawl. 

Her  lips  grew  white,  and  on  her  nostrils  flakes 
Of  wrath  and  loathing  stood.     "  What,  now,  is  all 

This  wicked  drivel  ?  "  she  cried  ;  "  how  dare  they  bring 

The  Queen  to  listen  to  so  foul  a  thing  ?  " 


"Queen!    I  speak  truth, — the  truth,  I  say!    He  fed 
Upon  these  lips,  —  this  hair  he  loved  to  praise ! 

I  held  within  these  arms  his  bright  fair  head 

Pressed  close,  ah,  close  !  —  Our  lifetimes  were  the  days 

We  met,  —  the  rest  a  void  !  "  —  "  Thou  spectral  Sin, 

Be  silent !  or,  if  such  a  thing  hath  been,  — 


"  If  this  be  not  thy  frenzy, — quick,  the  proof, 
Before  I  score  the  lie  thy  lips  amid  !  " 

She  spoke  so  dread  the  other  crouched  aloof, 

Panting,  but  with  gaunt  hands  somewhere  undid 

A  knot  within  her  hair,  and  thence  she  took 

The  signet-ring  and  passed  it.     The  Queen's  look 


80  THE  BLAMELESS  PRINCE. 

Fell  on  it,  and  that  moment  the  strong  stay, 
Which  held  her  from  the  instinct  of  her  wrong, 

Broke,  and  therewith  the  whole  device  gave  way, 
The  grand  ideal  she  had  watched  so  long  : 

As  if  a  tower  should  fall,  and  on  the  plain 

Only  a  scathed  and  broken  pile  remain. 


But  in  its  stead  she  would  not  measure  yet 
The  counter-chance,  nor  deem  this  sole  attaint 

Made  the  Prince  less  than  one  in  whom  7t  was  set 
To  prove  him  man.     "I  held  him  as  a  saint," 

She  thought,  "no  other: — of  all  men  alone 

My  blameless  one  !    Too  high  my  faith  had  flown  : 


"  So  be  it !  "     With  a  sudden  bitter  scorn 

She  said  :   "You  were  his  plaything,  then  !  the  food 

Wherewith  he  dulled  what  appetite  is  born, 
Of  the  gross  kind,  in  men.     His  nobler  mood 

You  knew  not !     How,  shall  I,  —  the  fountain  life 

Of  yonder  children,  —  his  embosomed  wife 


THE  BLAMELESS  PRINCE.  81 

"  Through  all  these  years,  —  shall  I,  his  Queen,  for  this 
Sin-smitten  harlot's  gage  of  an  hour's  shame, 

Misdoubt  him  ?  "  —  "  Yes,  I  was  his  harlot,  — yes, 
God  help  me  !  and  had  worn  the  loathly  name 

Before  the  world,  to  have  him  in  that  guise !  " 

"  Thou  strumpet !  wilt  thou  have  me  of  his  prize 


"  Rob  Satan  ?  "    cried  the  Queen,  and  one  step  moved. 

"  Queen,  if  you  loved  him,  save  rne  from  your  bane, 
As  something  that  was  dear  to  him  you  loved !  " 

Then  from  beneath  her  serge  she  took  the  chain 
Which,  long  ago  in  that  lone  wood,  the  Prince 
Hung  round  her,  —  she  had  never  loosed  it  since,  — 


And  gave  therewith  the  face  which,  in  its  years 
Of  youthful,  sunniest  grace,  a  limner  drew  ; 

And  unsigned  letters,  darkened  with  her  tears, 
Writ  in  the  hand  that  hapless  sovereign  knew 

Too  well  ;  —  then  told  the  whole,  strange,  secret  tale, 

As  if  with  Heaven  that  penance  could  avail, 

4*  P 


82  THE  BLAMELESS  PEINCE. 

Or  with  the  Queen,  who  heard  as  idols  list 
The  mad  priest's  cry,  nor  changed  her  place  nor  moaned, 

But,  clutching  those  mute  tokens  of  each  tryst, 
Hid  them  about  her.     But  the  other  groaned  : 

"The  picture,  —  let  me  see  it  ere  I  die, — 

Then  take  them  all!  once,  only!" — At  that  cry 


The  Queen  strode  forward  with  an  awful  stride, 
And  seized  the  dying  one,  and  bore  her  down, 

And  rose  her  height,  arid  said,  "  Thou  shouldst  have  died 
Ere  telling  this,  nor  I  have  worn  a  crown 

To  hear  it  told.     I  am  of  God  accurst  ! 

Of  all  his  hated,  may  he  smite  thee  first ! " 


With  that  wild  speech  she  fled,  nor  looked  behind, 
Hasting  to  get  her  from  that  fearful  room, 

Past  the  meek  nuns  in  wait.     These  did  not  find 
The  sick  one's  eyes  —  set  staring  through  the  gloom, 

While  her  hands  fumbled  at  her  heart,  and  Death 

Made  her  limbs  quake,  and  combated  her  breath  — 


THE   BLAMELESS   PKINCE.  83 

More  dreadful  than  the  Queen's  look,  as  she  thence 
Made  through  the  court,  and  reached  her  own  array 

She  knew  not  how,  and  clamored,  "  Bear  me  hence  !  " 
And,  even  as  her  chariot  moved  away, 

High  o'er  the  Abbey  heard  the  minster  toll 

Its  doleful  bell,  as  for  a  passing  soul. 


Though  midst  her  guardsmen,  as  they  speeded  back, 
The  wont  of  royalty  maintained  her  still, 

Where  grief  had  been  were  ruin  now  and  rack  ! 
The  firm  earth  reeled  about,  nor  could  her  will 

Make  it  seem  stable,  while  her  soul  went  through 

Her  wedded  years  in  desperate  review  ; 


The  air  seemed  full  of  lies  ;  the  realm,  unsound  ; 

Her  courtiers,  knaves  ;  her  maidens,  good  and  fair, 
Most  shameless  bawds  ;  her  children  clung  around 

Like  asps,  to  sting  her  ;  from  the  kingdom's  heir, 
Shuddering,  she  turned  her  face,  —  his  features  took 
A  shining  horror  from  his  father's  look. 


84  THE  BLAMELESS   PRINCE. 

Along  her  city  streets  the  thrifty  crowd, 

As  the  Queen  passed,  their  loving  reverence  made. 

"  'T  is  false  !  they  love  me  not !  "  she  cried  aloud  ; 
So  flung  her  from  her  chariot,  and  forbade 

All  words,  but  waved  her  ladies  back,  and  gained 

Her  inmost  room,  and  by  herself  remained. 


"  We  have  been  alone  these  years,  and  knew  it  not," 
She  said;   "now  let  us  on  the  knowledge  thrive !  " 

So  closed  the  doors,  and  all  things  else  forgot 
Than  her  own  misery.     "  I  cannot  live 

And  bear  this  death,"  she  said,  "  nor  die,  the  more 

To  meet  him, — and  that  woman  gone  before!" 


Thus  with  herself  she  writhed,  while  midnight  gloomed, 

As  lone  as  any  outcast  of  us  all  ; 
And  once,  without  a  purpose,  as  the  doomed 

Stare  round  and  count  the  shadows  on  the  wall, 
Unclasped  a  poet's  book  which  near  her  lay, 
And  turned  its  pages  in  that  witless  way, 


THE  BLAMELESS  PRINCE.  85 

And  read  the  song  some  wise  sad  man  had  made 
With  bitter  frost  about  his  doubting  heart. 

"  What  is  this  life/7  it  plained,  "  what  masquerade 
Of  which  ye  all  are  witnesses  and   part  ? 

;T  is  but  a  foolish,  smiling  face  to  wear 

Above  your  mortal  sorrow,  chill  despair ; 


"  To  mock  your  comrades  and  yourselves  with   mirth 
That  feeds  the  care  ye  cannot  drive  away ; 

To  vaunt  of  health,  yet  hide  beneath  the  girth 
Impuissance,  fell  sickness,  slow  decay  ; 

To  cloak  defeat,  and  with  the  rich,  the  great, 

Applaud  their  fairer  fortunes  as  their  mate  ; 


"  To  brave  the  sudden  woe,  the  secret  loss, 
Though  but  to-morrow  brings  the  open  shame  ; 

To  pay  the  tribute  of  your  caste,  and  toss 
Your  last  to  him  that  's  richer  save  in  name  ; 

To  judge  your  peers,  and  give  the  doleful  meed 

To  crime  that  7s  white  beside  your  hidden  deed  ; 


86  THE  BLAMELESS   PRINCE. 

"  To  whisper  love,  where  of  true  love  is  none,  — 
Desire,  where  lust  is  dead  ;  to  live  unchaste, 

And  wear  the  priestly  cincture  ;  —  last,  to  own, 
When  the  morn's  dream  is  gone  and  noontide  waste, 

Some  fate  still  kept  ye  from  your  purpose  sweet, 

Down  strange,  circuitous  paths  it  drew  your  feet !  " 


Thus  far  she  read,  and,  "Let  me  read  no  "more," 
She  clamored,  "  since  the  scales  have  left  mine  eyes 

And  freed  the  dreadful  gift  I  lacked  before ! 
We  are  but  puppets,  in  whatever  guise 

They  clothe   us,  to  whatever  tune  we  move  ; 

Albeit  we  prate  of  duty,  dream  of  love. 


"  Let  me,  too,  play  the  common  part,  and  wean 
My  life  from  hope,  and  look  beneath  the  mask 

To  learn  the  masker!     I,  who  was  a  Queen, 
And  like  a  hireling  thought  to  'scape  my  task  ! 

For  some  few  seasons  left  this  heart  is  schooled  : 

Yet,  —  had  it  been  a  little  longer  fooled,  — 


THE  BLAMELESS  PRINCE.  87 

"  0  God !  "     And  from  her  seat  she  bowed  her  down. 

The  gentle  sovereign  of  that  spacious  land 
Lay  prone  beneath  the  bawble  of  her  crown, 

Nor  heard  all  night  her  whispering  ladies  stand 
Outside  the  portal.     Greatly,  in  the  morn, 
They  marvelled  at  her  visage  wan  and  worn. 


"T3UT  when  the  sun  was  high,  the  populace 

By  every  gateway  filled  the  roads,  and  sought 
The  martial  plain,  within  whose  central  space 

That  wonder  of  the  Prince's  tomb  was  wrought. 
Thereto  from  out  the  nearer  land  there  passed 
The  mingled  folk,  an  eager  throng  and  vast  ; 


THE  BLAMELESS  PEINCE. 

Knights,  commons,  men  and  women,  young  and  old, 
The  present  and  the  promise  of  the  realm. 

Anon  the  coming  of  the  Queen  was  told, 

And  mounted  guards,  with  sable  plumes  at  helm, 

Made  through  the  middle,  like  a  reaper's  swath, 

A  straight,  wide  roadway  for  the  sovereign's  path. 


Then  rose  the  murmurous  sound  of  her  advance, 
And,  with  the  crown-prince,  and  her  other  brood 

Led  close  behind,  she  came.     Her  countenance 
Moved  not  to  right  nor  left,  until  she  stood 

Before -the  tomb;  yet  those,  who  took  the  breath 

That  clothed  her  progress,  felt  a  waft  of  death. 


0  noble  martyr !  queenliest  intent ! 

Strong  human  soul,  that  holds  to  pride  through  all 
Ah  me  !  with  what  fierce  heavings  in  them  pent 

The  brave  complete  their  work,   whatever  befall ! 
Upon  her  front  the  people  only  read 
Pale  grief  that  clung  forever  to  the  dead. 


THE   BLAMELESS  PKINCE.      ,  89 

How  should  they  know  she  trod  the  royal  stand, 
And  took  within  her  hold  the  silken  line, 

As,  while  the  headsman  waits,  one  lays  her  hand  . 
Upon  the  scarf  that  slays  her  by  a  sign  ? 

With  one  great  pang  she  drew  the  veil,  and  lo  ! 

The  work  was  dazzling  in  the  noonday  glow. 


There  shone  the  Prince's  image,  golden,  high, 
Installed  forever  in  the  people's  sight. 

"Alas!"  they  cried,   "too  good,  too  fair  to  die!" 
But  at  the  foot  the  Queen  had  bid  them  write 

Her  consort's  goodness,  and  his  glory-roll, 

Yet  knew  not  they  had  carved  upon  the  scroll 


That  last  assurance  of  his  stainless  heart,  — 

For  such  they  deemed  his  words  who  heard  them  fall : 

"  Of  all  great  things  this  Prince  achieved  his  part, 
Yet  wedded  Love  to  him  was  worth  them  all." 

Thus  read  the  Queen  :  till  now,  her  injured  soul 

Of  its  forlonmess  had  not  felt  the  whole. 


90  THE  BLAMELESS  PKINCE. 

Now  all  her  heart  was  broken.     There  she  fell, 
And  to  the  skies  her  lofty  spirit  fled. 

The  wrong  of  those  mute  words  had  smitten  well. 
A  cry  went  up  :  "  The  Queen  !  the  Queen  is  dead 

0  regal  heart  that  would  not  reign  alone ! 

0  fatal  sorrow  !     0  the  empty  throne  !  " 


Her  people  made  her  beauteous  relics  room 
Within  the  chamber  where  her  consort  slept. 

There  rest  they  side  by  side.     Around  the  tomb 
A  thousand  matrons  solemn  vigil  kept. 

Long  ages  told  the  story  of  her  reign, 

And  sang  the  nuptial  love  that  had  no  stain. 


MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS 


I. 


SONGS    AND    STUDIES 


SONGS  AND   STUDIES. 


SURF. 

QPLENDORS  of  morning  the  billow-crests  brighten, 

Lighting  and  luring  them  on  to  the  land,  — 
Far-away  waves  where  the  wan  vessels  whiten, 

Blue  rollers  breaking  in  surf  where  we  stand. 
Curved  like  the  necks  of  a  legion  of  horses, 

Each  with  his  froth-gilded  mane  flowing  free, 
Hither  they  speed  in  perpetual  courses, 

Bearing  thy  riches,  0  beautiful  sea! 

Strong  with  the  striving  of  yesterday's  surges, 

Lashed  by  the  wanton  winds  leagues  from  the  shore, 

Each,  driven  fast  by  its  follower,  urges 
Fearlessly  those  that  are  fleeting  before  ; 


96  SURF. 

How  they  leap  over  the  ridges  we  walk  on, 

Flinging  us  gifts  from  the  depths  of  the  sea,  — 

Silvery  fish  for  the  foam-haunting  falcon, 

Palm-weed  and  pearls  for  my  darling  and  me  ! 

Light  falls  her  foot  where  the  rift  follows  after, 

Finer  her  hair  than  your  feathery  spray, 
Sweeter  her  voice  than  your  infinite  laughter,  — 

Hist!  ye  wild  couriers,  list  to  my  lay! 
Deep  in  the  chambers  of  grottoes  auroral 

Morn  laves  her  jewels  and  bends  her  red  knee  : 
Thence  to  my  dear  one  your  amber  and  coral 

Bring  for  her  dowry,  0  beautiful  sea! 


TOU JOURS  AMOUR.  97 


TOUJOURS   AMOUR. 

~F)RITHEE  tell  me,  Dimple-Chin, 

At  what  age  does  Love  begin  ? 
Your  blue  eyes  have  scarcely  seen 
Summers  three,  my  fairy  queen, 
But  a  miracle  of  sweets, 
Soft  approaches,  sly  retreats, 
Show  the  little  archer  there, 
Hidden  in  your  pretty  hair  ; 
When  didst  learn  a  heart  to  win  ? 
Prithee  tell  me,  Dimple  Chin ! 

"Oh!"    the  rosy  lips  reply, 
"I  can't  tell  you  if  I  try. 
'T  is  so  long  I  can't  remember  : 
Ask  some  younger  lass  than  I ! 

Tell,  0  tell  me,  Grizzled-Face, 

Do  your  heart  and  head  keep  pace  ? 

5  o 


98  TOUJOURS  AMOUR. 

When  does  hoary  Love  expire, 
When  do  frosts  put  out  the  fire? 
Can  its  embers  burn  below 
All  that  chill  December  snow  ? 
Care  you  still  soft  hands  to  press, 
Bonny  heads  to  smooth  and  bless? 
When  does  Love  give  up  the  chase  ? 
Tell,  0  tell  me,  Grizzled-Face! 

"Ah!"  the  wise  old  lips  reply, 
"  Youth  may  pass  and  strength  may  die  ; 
But  of  Love  I  can't  foretoken  : 
Ask  some  older  sage  than  I ! " 


LAURA,   MY  DARLING.  99 


LAURA;   MY  DARLING. 

T  AURA,  my  darling,  the  roses  have  blushed 

At  the  kiss  of  the  dew,  and  our  chamber  is  hushed  ; 
Our  murmuring  babe  to  your  bosom  has  clung, 
And  hears  in  his  slumber  the  song  that  you  sung  ; 
I  watch  you  asleep  with  your  arms  round  him  thrown, 
Your  links  of  dark  tresses  wound  in  with  his  own, 
And  the  wife  is  as  dear  as  the  gentle  young  bride 
Of  the  hour  when  you  first,  darling,  came  to  my  side. 

Laura,  my  darling,  our  sail  down  the  stream 
Of  Youth's  summers  and  winters  has  been  like  a  dream  ; 
Years  have  but  rounded  your  womanly  grace, 
And  added  their  spell  to  the  light  of  your  face  ; 
Your  soul  is  the  same  as  though  part  were  not  given 
To  the  two,  like  yourself,  sent  to  bless  me  from  heaven,  — 
Dear  lives,  springing  forth  from  the  life  of  my  life, 
To  make  you  more  near,  darling,  mother  and  wife  ! 


100  LAURA,   MY  DAELING. 

Laura,  my  darling,  there  's  hazel-eyed  Fred, 

Asleep  in  his  own  tiny  cot  by  the  bed, 

And  little  King  Arthur,  whose  curls  have  the  art 

Of  winding  their  tendrils  so  close  round  my  heart,  - 

Yet  fairer  than  either,  and  dearer  than  both, 

Is  the  true  one  who  gave  me  in  girlhood  her  troth 

For  we,  when  we  mated  for  evil  and  good, — 

What  were  we,  darling,  but  babes  in  the  wood  ? 

Laura,  my  darling,  the  years  which  have  flown 
Brought  few  of  the  prizes  I  pledged  to  my  own. 
I  said  that  no  sorrow  should  roughen  her  way,  — 
Her  life  should  be  cloudless,  a  long  summer's  day. 
Shadow  and  sunshine,  thistles  and  flowers, 
Which  of  the  two,  darling,  most  have  been  ours  ? 
Yet  to-night,  by  the  smile  on  your  lips,  I  can  see 
You  are  dreaming  of  me,  darling,  dreaming  of  me 

Laura,  my  darling,  the  stars,  that  we  knew 
In  our  youth,  are  still  shining  as  tender  and  true  : 
The  midnight  is  sounding  its  slumberous  bell, 
And  I  come  to  the  one  who  has  loved  me  so  well. 


LAURA,   MY  DARLING.  101 

Wake,  darling,  wake,  for  my  vigil  is  done  : 
What  shall  dissever  our  lives  which  are  one  ? 
Say,  while  the  rose  listens  under  her  breath, 
"  Naught  until  death,  darling,  naught  until  death !  " 


102  THE   TRYST. 


THE   TRYST. 

0  LEEPING,  I  dreamed  that  thoti  wast  mine, 
,  In  some  ambrosial  lovers'  shrine. 

My  lips  against  thy  lips  were  pressed, 
And  all  our  passion  was  confessed  ; 
So  near  and  dear  my  darling  seemed, 

1  knew  not  that  I  only  dreamed. 

Waking,  this  mid  and  moonlit  night, 
I  clasp  thee  close  by  lover's  right. 
Thou  fearest  not  my  warm  embrace, 
And  yet,  so  like  the  dream  thy  face 
Arid  kisses,  I  but  half  partake 
The  joy,  and  know  not  if  I  wake. 


VIOLET   EYES.  103 


VIOLET  EYES. 

• 
/^VNE  can  never  quite  forget 

Eyes  like  yours,  May  Margaret, 
Eyes  of  dewy  violet ! 
Nothing  like  them,  Margaret, 
Save  the  blossoms  newly  born 
Of  the  May  and  of  the  Morn. 

Oft  my  memory  wanders  back 

To  those  burning  eyes  and  black, 

Whose  heat-lightnings  once  could  move 

Me  to  passion,  not  to  love  ; 

Longer  in  my  heart  of  hearts 

Linger  those  disguised  arts, 

Which,  betimes,  a  hazel  pair 

Used  upon  me  unaware  ; 

And  the  wise  and  tender  gray,  — 

Eyes  wherewith  a  saint  might  pray,  — 


104  VIOLET  EYES. 

Speak  of  pledges  that  endure 
And  of  faith  and  vigils  pure  ; 
But  for  him  who  fain  would  know 
All  the  fire  the  first  can  show, 

All  the  art,  or  friendship  fast, 

• 

Of  the  second  and  the  last,  — 

And  would  gain  a  subtler  worth, 

Part  of  Heaven,  part  of  Earth,  — 

He  these  mingled  rays  can  find 

In  but  one  immortal  kind  : 

In  those  eyes  of  violet, 

In  your  eyes,  May  Margaret  ! 


THE   DOORSTEP.  105 


THE  DOORSTEP. 

rilHE  conference-meeting  through  at  last, 

We  boys  around  the  vestry  waited 
To  see  the  girls  come  tripping  past 
Like  snow-birds  willing  to  be  mated. 

Not  braver  he  that  leaps  the  wall 

By  level  musket-flashes  litten, 
Than  I,  who  stepped  before  them  all 

Who  longed  to  see  me  get  the  mitten. 

But  no,  she  blushed  and  took  my  arm! 

We  let  the  old  folks  have  the  highway, 
And  started  toward  the  Maple  Farm 

Along  a  kind  of  lovers'  by-way. 

I  can't  remember  what  we  said, 

7T  was  nothing  worth  a  song  or  story  ; 

Yet  that  rude  path  by  which  we  sped 
Seemed  all  transformed  and  in  a  glory. 

5* 


106  THE  DOORSTEP. 

The  snow  was  crisp  beneath  our  feet, 

The  moon  was  full,  the  fields  were  gleaming ; 

By  hood  and  tippet  sheltered  sweet, 

Her  face  with  youth  and  health  was  beaming. 

The  little  hand  outside  her  muff,  — 
0  sculptor,  if  you  could  but  mould  it ! 

So  lightly  touched  my  jacket-cuff, 
To  keep  it  warm  I  had  to  hold  it. 

To  have  her  with  me  there  alone, — 

7T  was  love  and  fear  and  triumph  blended. 

At  last  we  reached  the  foot-worn  stone 
Where  that  delicious  journey  ended. 

The  old  folks,  too,  were  almost  home  ; 

Her  dimpled  hand  the  latches  fingered, 
We  heard  the  voices  nearer  come, 

Yet  on  the  doorstep  still  we  lingered. 

She  shook  her  ringlets  from  her  hood 

And  with  a  "  Thank  you,  Ned,"  dissembled, 

But  yet  I  knew  she  understood 

With  what  a  daring  wish  I  trembled. 


THE   DOORSTEP.  107 

A  cloud  passed  kindly  overhead, 

The  moon  was  slyly  peeping  through  it, 

Yet  hid  its  face,  as  if  it  said, 

"Come,  now  or  never!    do  it!    do  it!" 

My  lips  till  then  had  only  known 

The  kiss  of  mother  and  of  sister, 
But  somehow,  full  upon  her  own 

Sweet,  rosy,  darling  mouth,  —  I  kissed  her  ! 

Perhaps  ?t  was  boyish  love,  yet  still, 

0  listless  woman,  weary  lover  ! 

To  feel  once  more  that  fresh,  wild  thrill 

1  'd  give,  —  but  who  can  live  youth  over  ? 


108  ILIUM  FUIT. 


ILIUM  FUIT. 

/^\NE  by  one  they  died,  — 

Last  of  all  their  race  ; 
Nothing  left  but  pride, 

Lace,  and  buckled  hose. 
Their  quietus  made, 

On  their  dwelling-place 
Ruthless  hands  are  laid : 

Down  the  old  house  goes ! 

See  the  ancient  manse 

Meet  its  fate  at  last ! 
Time,  in  his  advance, 

Age  nor  honor  knows  ; 
Axe  and  broadaxe  fall, 

Lopping  off  the  Past : 
Hit  with  bar  and  maul, 

Down  the  old  house  goes  ! 


ILIUM  FUIT. 

Sevenscore  years  it  stood  : 

Yes,  they  built  it  well, 
Though  they  built  of  wood, 
When  that  house  arose. 
For  its  cross-beams  square 

Oak  and  walnut  fell  ; 
Little  worse  for  wear, 

Down  the  old  house  goes ! 

Rending  board  and  plank, 

Men  with  crow-bars  ply, 
Opening  fissures  dank, 

Striking  deadly  blows. 
From  the  gabled  roof 

How  the  shingles  fly! 
Keep  you  here  aloof,  — 

Down  the  old  house  goes! 

Holding  still  its  place, 

There  the  chimney  stands, 
Stanch  from  top  to  base, 
Frowning  on  its  foes. 


109 


110  ILIUM   FUIT. 

Heave  apart  the  stones, 
Burst  its  iron  bands  ! 
How  it  shakes  and  groans  ! 
Down  the  old  house  goes ! 

Round  the  mantel-piece 

Glisten  Scripture  tiles  ; 
Henceforth  they  shall  cease 
Painting  Egypt's  woes, 
Painting  David's  fight, 

Fair  Bathsheba's  smiles, 
Blinded  Samson's  might,  — 
Down  the  old  house  goes ! 

On  these  oaken  floors 

High-shoed  ladies  trod  ; 
Through  those  panelled  doors 

Trailed  their  furbelows  : 
Long  their  day  has  ceased  ; 

Now,  beneath  the  sod, 
With  the  worms  they  feast,  — 
Down  the  old  house  goes  I 


ILIUM  FUIT.  Ill 

Many  a  bride  has  stood 
In  yon  spacious  room  ; 
Here  her  hand  was  wooed 
Underneath  the  rose  ; 
O'er  that  sill  the  dead 

Reached  the  family-tomb : 
All,  that  were,  have  fled, — 
Down  the  old  house  goes ! 

Once,  in  yonder  hall, 

Washington,  they  say, 
Led  the  New-Year's  ball, 

Stateliest  of  beaux. 
0  that  minuet, 

Maids  and  matrons  gay! 
Are  there  such  sights  yet  ? 
Down  the  old  house  goes! 

British  troopers  came 

Ere  another  year, 
With  their  coats  aflame, 

Mincing  on  their  toes  ; 


112  ILIUM   FUIT. 

Daughters  of  the  house 

Gave  them  haughty  cheer, 
Laughed  to  scorn  their  vows,  — 
Down  the  old  house  goes ! 

Doorway  high  the  box 

In  the  grass-plot  spreads  ; 
It  has  borne  its  locks 

Through  a  thousand  snows  ; 
In  an  evil  day, 

From  those  garden-beds 
Now  't  is  hacked  away,  — 

Down  the  old  house  goes! 

Lo !   the  sycamores, 

Scathed  and  scrawny  mates, 
At  the  mansion  doors 

Shiver,  full  of  woes  ; 
With  its  life  they  grew, 

Guarded  well  its  gates  ; 
Now  their  task  is  through,  — 
Down  the  old  house  goes  I 


ILIUM  FUIT.  113 


On  this  honored  site 

Modern  trade  will  build,  — 
What  unseemly  fright 

Heaven  only  knows  ! 
Something  peaked  and  high, 

Smacking  of  the  guild : 
Let  us  heave  a  sigh,  — 

Down  the  old  house  goes 


114  COUNTRY  SLEIGHING. 


COUNTRY    SLEIGHING. 

A  NEW  SONG  TO  AN  OLD  TUNE. 

TN  January,  when  down  the  dairy 

The  cream  and  clabber  freeze, 
When  snow-drifts  cover  the  fences  over, 

We  farmers  take  our  ease. 
At  night  we  rig  the  team, 

And  bring  the  cutter  out ; 
Then  fill  it,  fill  it,  fill  it,  fill  it, 

And  heap  the  furs  about. 

Here  friends  and  cousins  dash  up  by  dozens, 

And  sleighs  at  least  a  score  ; 
There  John  and  Molly,  behind,  are  jolly,  — 

Nell  rides  with  me,  before. 
All  down  the  village  street 

We  range  us  in  a  row  : 
Now  jingle,  jingle,  jingle,  jingle, 

And  over  the  crispy  snow  ! 


COUNTRY   SLEIGHING.  115 

The  windows  glisten,  the  old  folks  listen 

To  hear  the  sleigh-bells  pass  ; 
The  fields  grow  whiter,  the  stars  are  brighter, 

The  road  is  smooth  as  glass. 
Our  muffled  faces  burn, 

The  clear  north-wind  blows  cold, 
The  girls  all  nestle,  nestle,  nestle, 

Each  in  her  lover's  hold. 

Through  bridge  and  gateway  we're  shooting  straightway, 

Their  tollman  was  too  slow  ! 
He  !11  listen  after  our  song  and  laughter 

As  over  the  hill  we  go. 
The  girls  cry,  "  Fie  !    for  shame  !  " 

Their  cheeks  and  lips  are  red, 
And  so,  with  kisses,  kisses,  kisses, 

They  take  the  toll  instead. 

Still  follow,  follow  !    across  the  hollow 

The  tavern  fronts  the  road. 
Whoa,  now!    all  steady!    the  host  is  ready, — 

He  knows  the  country  mode ! 


116  COUNTRY   SLEIGHING. 

The  irons  are  in  the  fire, 

The  hissing  flip  is  got ; 
So  pour  and  sip  it,  sip  it,  sip  it, 

And  sip  it  while  't  is  hot. 

Push  back  the  tables,  and  from  the  stables 

Bring  Tom,  the  fiddler,  in  ; 
All  take  your  places,  and  make  your  graces, 

And  let  the  dance  begin. 
The  girls  are  beating  time 

To  hear  the  music  sound  ; 
Now  foot  it,  foot  it,  foot  it,  foot  it, 

And  swing  your  partners  round. 

Last  couple  toward  the  left  1    all  forward ! 

Cotillons  through,  let  '&  wheel  : 
First  tune  the  fiddle,  then  down  the  middle 

In  old  Virginia  Reel. 
Play  Money  Musk  to  close, 

Then  take  the  "long  chasse," 
While  in  to'  supper,  supper,  supper, 

The  landlord  leads  the  way. 


COUNTEY   SLEIGHING.  117 

The  bells  are  ringing,  the  ostlers  bringing 

The  cutters  up  anew  ; 
The  beasts  are  neighing ;  too  long  we  're  staying, 

The  night  is  half-way  through. 
Wrap  close  the  buffalo-robes, 

We  're  all  aboard  once  more  ; 
Now  jingle,  jingle,  jingle,  jingle, 

Away  from  the  tavern-door. 

So  follow,  follow,  by  hill  and  hollow, 

And  swiftly  homeward  glide. 
What  midnight  splendor!  how  warm  and  tender 

The  maiden  by  your  side  ! 
The  sleighs  drop  far  apart, 

Her  words  are  soft  and  low  ; 
Now,  if  you  love  her,  love  her,  love  her, 

;Tis  safe  to  tell  her  so. 


118  PAN  IN  WALL   STREET. 


PAN  IN   WALL  STREET. 

A.  D.    1867. 

TUST  where  the  Treasury's  marble  front 

Looks  over  Wall  Street's  mingled  nations, 
Where  Jews  and  Gentiles  most  are  wont 

To  throng  for  trade  and  last  quotations, — 
Where,  hour  by  hour,  the  rates  of  gold 

Outrival,  in  the  ears  of  people, 
The  quarter-chimes,  serenely  tolled 

From  Trinity's  undaunted  steeple  ;  — 

Even  there  I  heard  a  strange,  wild  strain 

Sound  high  above  the  modern  clamor, 
Above  the  cries  of  greed  and  gain, 

The  curbstone  war,  the  auction's  hammer,  — 
And  swift,  on  Music's  misty  ways, 

It  led,  from  all  this  strife  for  millions, 
To  ancient,  sweet-do-nothing  days 

Among  the  kirtle-robed  Sicilians. 


PAN  IN  WALL  STREET.  119 

And  as  it  stilled  the  multitude, 

And  yet  more  joyous  rose,  and  shriller, 
I  saw  the  minstrel,  where  he  stood 

At  ease  against  a  Doric  pillar : 
One  hand  a  droning  organ  played, 

The  other  held  a  Pan's-pipe  (fashioned 
Like  those  of  old)  to  lips  that  made 

The  reeds  give  out  that  strain  impassioned. 

'T  was  Pan  himself  had  wandered  here 

A-strolling  through  this  sordid  city, 
And  piping  to  the  civic  ear 

The  prelude  of  some  pastoral  ditty  ! 
The  demigod  had  crossed  the  seas,  — 

From  haunts  of  shepherd,  nymph,  and  satyr 
And  Syracusan  times,  —  to  these 

Far  shores  and  twenty  centuries  later. 

A  ragged  cap  was  on  his  head  : 

But  —  hidden  thus  —  there  was  no  doubting 
That,  all  with  crispy  locks  o'erspread, 

His  gnarled  horns  were  somewhere  sprouting; 


120  PAN  IN  WALL   STEEET. 

His  club-feet,  cased  in  rusty  shoes, 

Were  crossed,  as  on  some  frieze  you  see  them, 
And  trousers,  patched  of  divers  hues, 

Concealed  his  crooked  shanks  beneath  them. 

He  filled  the  quivering  reeds  with  sound, 

And  o'er  his  mouth  their  changes  shifted, 
And  with  his  goafs-eyes  looked  around 

Where'er  the  passing  current  drifted  ; 
And  soon,  as  on  Trinacrian  hills 

The  nymphs  and  herdsmen  ran  to  hear  him, 
Even  now  the  tradesmen  from  their  tills, 

With  clerks  and  porters,  crowded  near  him. 

The  bulls  and  bears  together  drew 

From  Jauncey  Court  and  New  Street  Alley, 
As  erst,  if  pastorals  be  true, 

Came  beasts  from  every  wooded  valley  ; 
The  random  passers  stayed  to  list,  — 

A  boxer  Mgou,  rough  and  merry,  — 
A  Broadway  Daphnis,  on  his  tryst 

With  Nais  at  the  Brooklyn  Ferry. 


PAN  IN  WALL   STEEET.  121 

A  one-eyed  Cyclops  halted  long 

In  tattered  cloak  of  army  pattern, 
And  Galatea  joined  the  throng,  — 

A  blowsy,  apple-vending  slattern ; 
While  old  Silenus  staggered  out 

From  some  new-fangled  lunch-house  handy, 
And  bade  the  piper,  with  a  shout, 

To  strike  up  Yankee  Doodle  Dandy! 

A  newsboy  and  a  peanut-girl 

Like  little  Fauns  began  to  caper  : 
His  hair  was  all  in  tangled  curl, 

Her  tawny  legs  were  bare  and  taper  ; 
And  still  the  gathering  larger  grew, 

And  gave  its  pence  and  crowded  nigher, 
While  aye  the  shepherd-minstrel  blew 

His  pipe,  and  struck  the  gamut  higher. 

0  heart  of  Nature,  beating  still 

With  throbs  her  vernal  passion  taught  her,  — 
Even  here,  as  on  the  vine-clad  hill, 

Or  by  the  Arethusan  water  I , 
6 


122  PAN  IN  WALL   STREET. 

New  forms  may  fold  the  speech,  new  lands 
Arise  within  these  ocean-portals, 

But  Music  waves  eternal  wands,  — 
Enchantress  of  the  souls  of  mortals  ! 

So  thought  I,  —  but  among  us  trod 

A  man  in  blue,  with  legal  baton, 
And  scoffed  the  vagrant  demigod, 

And  pushed  him  from  the  step  I  sat  on. 
Doubting  I  mused  upon  the  cry, 

"  Great  Pan  is  dead !  "  —  and  all  the  people 
Went  on  their  ways  :  —  and  clear  and  high 

The  quarter  sounded  from  the  steeple. 


ANONYMA.  123 


ANONYMA. 

HER     CONFESSION. 

TF  I  had  been  a  rich  man's  girl, 

With  my  tawny  hair,  and  this  wanton  art 
Of  lifting  my  eyes  in  the  evening  whirl 

And  looking  into  another's  heart ; 
Had  love  b'een  mine  at  birth,  and  friends 

Caressing  and  guarding  me  night  and  day, 
With  doctors  to  watch  my  finger-ends, 

And  a  parson  to  teach  me  how  to  pray ; 

If  I  had  been  reared  as  others  have,  — 

With  but  a  tithe  of  these  looks,  which  came 
From  my  reckless  mother,  now  in  her  grave, 

And  the  father  who  grudged  me  even  his  name, 
Why,  I  should  have  station  and  tender  care, 

Should  ruin  men  in  the  high-bred  way, 
Passionless,  smiling  at  their  despair, 

And  marrying  where  my  vantage  lay. 


124  ANONYM  A. 

As  it  is,  I  must  have  love  and  dress, 

Jewelled  trinkets,  and  costly  food, 
For  I  was  born  for  plenteousness, 

Music  and  flowers,  and  all  things  good  ; 
To  that  same  father  I  owe  some  thanks, 

Seeing,  at  least,  that  blood  will  tell, 
And  keep  me  ever  above  the  ranks 

Of  those  who  wallow  where  they  fell 

True,  there  are  weary,  weary  days 

In  the  great  hotel  where  I  make  my  lair, 
Where  I  meet  the  men  with  their  brutal  praise, 

Or  answer  the  women,  stare  for  stare. 
;T  is  an  even  fight,  and  I  '11  carry  it  through,  — 

Pit  them  against  me,  great  and  small : 
I  grant  no  quarter,  nor  would  I  sue 

For  grace  to  the  softest  of  them  all 

I  cannot  remember  half  the  men 

Whose  sin  has  tangled  them  in  my  toils,  — 
All  are  alike  before  me  then, 

Part  of  my  easily  conquered  spoils : 


ANONYM  A.  125 

Tall  or  short,  and  dark  or  fair, 

Rich  or  famous,  haughty  or  fond, 
There  are  few,  I  find,  who  will  not  forswear 

The  lover's  oath  and  the  wedding  bond. 

Fools !    what  is  it  that  drives  them  on 

With  their  perjured  lips  on  poison  fed  ; 
Vain  of  themselves,  and  cruel  as  stone, 

How  should  they  be  so  cheaply  led  ? 
Surely  they  know  me  as  I  am,  — 

Only  a  cuckoo,  at  the  best, 
Watching,  careless  of  hate  and  shame, 

To  crouch  myself  in  another's  nest. 

But  the  women,  —  how  they  flutter  and  flout, 

The  stupid,  terribly  virtuous  wives, 
If  I  but  chance  to  move  about 

Or  enter  within  their  bustling  hives  ! 
Buz !  buz !   in  the  scandalous  gatherings, 

When  a  strange  queen  lights  amid  their  throng, 
And  their  tongues  have  a  thousand  angry  stings 

To  send  her  travelling,  right  or  wrong. 


126  ANONYM  A. 

Well,  the  earth  is  wide  and  open  to  all, 

And  money  and  men  are  everywhere, 
And,  as  I  roam,  't  will  ill  befall 

If  I  do  not  gain  rny  lawful  share : 
One  drops  off,  but'  another  will  come 

With  as  light  a  head  and  heavy  a  purse ; 
So  long  as  I  have  the  world  for  a  home, 

I  '11  take  my  fortune,  better  or  worse ! 


SPOKEN  AT  SEA.  127 


SPOKEN    AT    SEA. 

THE  LOG-BOOK  OF  THE  STEAMSHIP  VIRGINIA. 

rpWELVE  hundred  miles  and  more 
From  the  stormy  English  shore, 
All  aright,  the  seventh  night, 
On  her  course  our  vessel  bore. 
Her  lantern  shone  ahead, 
And  the  green  lamp  and  the  red 
To  starboard  and  to  larboard 
Shot  their  light. 

Close  on  the  midnight  call 
What  a  mist  began  to  fall, 

And  to  hide  the  ocean  wide, 
And  to  wrap  us  in  a  pall ! 
Beneath  its  folds  we  past : 
Hidden  were  shroud  and  mast, 

And  faces,  in  near  places 
Side  by  side. 


128  SPOKEN  AT   SEA. 

Sudden  there  also  fell 
A  summons  like  a  knell : 

Every  ear  the  words  could  hear,  — 
Whence  spoken,  who  could  tell  ? 
"  What  ship  is  this  ?   where  bound  ?  " 
Gods,  what  a  dismal  sound ! 

A  stranger,  and  in  danger, 
Sailing  near. 

"  The  Virginia,  on  her  route 
From  the  Mersey,  seven  days  out ; 

Fore  and  aft,  our  trusty  craft 
Carries  a  thousand  souls,  about. " 
"  All  these  souls  may  travel  still, 
Westward  bound,  if  so  they  will  ; 

Bodies  rather,  I  would  gather !  " 
Loud  he  laughed. 

"  Who  is  't  that  hails  so  rude, 
And  for  what  this  idle  mood  ? 

Words  like  these,  on  midnight  seas, 
Bode  no  friend  nor  fortune  good  !  " 


SPOKEN  AT   SEA.  129 

"  Care  not  to  know  my  name, 
But  whence  I  lastly  came, 
At  leisure,  for  my  pleasure, 
Ask  the  breeze. 

"  To  the  people  of  your  port 
Bear  a  message  of  this  sort : 

Say,  I  haste  unto  the  West, 
A  sharer  of  their  sport. 
Let  them  sweep  the  houses  clean  : 
Their  fathers  did,  I  ween, 

When  hearing  of  my  nearing 
Asa  guest ! 

"As  by  Halifax  ye  sail 

Arid  the  steamship  England  hail, 

Of  me,  then,  bespeak  her  men  ; 
She  took  my  latest  mail,  — 
7T  was  somewhere  near  this  spot : 
Doubtless  they  've  not  forgot. 

Remind  them  (if  you  find  them !) 

Once  again. 
6* 


130  SPOKEN  AT   SEA. 

"  Yet  that  you  all  may  know 
Who  is  't  that  hailed  you  so, 

(Slow  he  saith,  and  under  breath,) 
I  leave  my  sign  below !  " 
Then  from  our  crowded  hold 
A  dreadful  cry  uprolled, 

Unbroken,  and  the  token,  — 
It  was  Death. 


THE   DUKE'S  EXEQUY.  131 


THE   DUKE'S   EXEQUY. 

ARRAS,  A.  D.  1404. 

CLOTHED  in  sable,  crowned  with  gold, 

All  his  wars  and  councils  ended, 
Philip  lay,  surnamed  The  Bold  : 
Passing-hell  his  quittance  tolled. 
And  the  chant  of  priests  ascended. 

Mailed  knights  and  archers  stand, 
Thronging  in  the  church  of  Arras  ; 
Nevermore  at  his  command 
Shall  they  scour  the  Netherland, 
Nevermore  the  outlaws  harass  ; 

Naught  is  left  of  his  array 

Save  a  barren  territory  ; 

Forty  years  of  generous  sway 
Sped  his  princely  hoards  away, 

Bartered  all  his  gold  for  glory. 


132  THE   DUKE'S   EXEQUY. 

Forth  steps  Flemish  Margaret  then, 
Striding  toward  the  silent  ashes ; 
And  the  eyes  of  armed  men 
Fill  with  startled  wonder,  when 
On  the  bier  her  girdle  clashes  ! 

Swift  she  drew  it  from  her  waist, 
And  the  purse  arid  keys  it  carried 

On  the  ducal  coffin  placed  ; 

Then  with  proud  demeanor  faced 
Sword  and  shield  of  him  she  married. 

"  No  encumbrance  of  the  dead 
Must  the  living  clog  forever  ; 

From  thy  debts  and  dues,"  she  said, 
"  From  the  liens  of  thy  bed, 
We  this  day  our  line  dissever. 

"From  thy  hand  we  gain  release, 
Know  all  present  by  this  token  ! 
Let  the  dead  repose  in  peace, 
Let  the  claims  upon  us  cease 
When  the  ties  that  bound  are  broken. 


THE  DUKE'S  EXEQUY.  133 

"  Philip,  we  have  loved  thee  long, 
But,  in  years  of  future  splendor, 

Burgundy  shall  count  among 

Bravest  deeds  of  tale  and  song 
This,  our  widowhood's  surrender." 

Back  the  stately  Duchess  turned, 
While  the  priests  and  friars  chanted, 

And  the  swinging  incense  burned  : 

Thus  by  feudal  rite  was  earned 
Greatness  for  a  race  undaunted. 


134  THE  HILLSIDE  DOOB. 


THE   HILLSIDE   DOOR. 


OOMETIMES  within  my  hand 
A  Spirit  puts  the  silver  key 

Of  Fairyland  : 

From  the  dark,  barren  heath  he  beckons  me, 
Till  by  that  hidden  hillside  door, 

Where  bards  have  passed  before, 
I  seem  to  stand. 


The  portal  opens  wide  : 
In,  through  the  wondrous,  lighted  halls, 

Voiceless  I  glide 
Where  tinkling  music  magically  falls, 

And  fair  in  fountained  gardens  move 
The  heroes,  blest  with  love 
And  glorified. 


THE  HILLSIDE  DOOR.  135 

Then  by  the  meadows  green, 
Down  winding  walks  of  elf  and  fay, 

I  pass  unseen  : 

There  rest  the  valiant  chieftains  wreathed  with  bay; 
Here  maidens  to  their  lovers  cling, 
And  happy  minstrels  sing, 
Praising  their  queen. 

For  where  yon  pillars  are, 
And  birds  with  tuneful  voices  call, 

There  shines  a  star,  — 

The  crown  she  wears,  the  Fairy  Queen  of  all ! 
Led  to  that  inmost,  wooded  haunt 
By  maidens  ministrant, 
I  halt  afar. 

0  joy !   she  sees  me  stand 
Doubting,  and  calls  me  near  her  throne, 

And  waves  her  wand, 

As  in  my  dreams,  and  smiles  on  me  alone. 
0  royal  beauty,  proud  and  sweet ! 

1  bow  me  at  her  feet 

To  kiss  that  hand : 


136  THE   HILLSIDE   DOOR. 

Ah  woe  !    ah,  fate  malign  ! 
By  what  a  rude,  revengeful  gust, 

From  that  fair  shrine 

Which  holds  my  sovran  mistress  I  am  thrust ! 
Then  comes  a  mocking  voice's  taunt, 
Crying,   Thou  fool,  avaunt! 
She  is  not  thine  ! 

And  I  am  backward  borne 
By  unseen  awful  hands,  and  cast, 

In  utter  scorn, 

Forth  from  that  brightness  to  the  midnight  blast 
Not  mine  the  minstrel-lover's  wreath, 
But  the  dark,  barren  heath, 
And  heart  forlorn. 


AT   TWILIGHT.  137 


AT    TWILIGHT. 

rriHE  sunset  darkens  in  the  west, 

The  sea-gulls  haunt  the  bay, 
And  far  and  high  the  swallows  fly 

To  watch  the  dying  day. 
Now  where  is  she  that  once  with  me 

The  rippling  waves  would  list  ? 
And  0  for  the  song  I  loved  so  long, 

And  the  darling  lips  I  kist  ! 

Yon  twinkling  sail  may  whiter  gleam 

Than  falcon's  snowy  wing, 
Her  lances  far  the  evening-star 

Beyond  the  waves  may  fling  ; 
Float  on,  ah  float,  enchanted  boat, 

Bear  true  hearts  o'er  the  main, 
But  I  shall  guide  thy  helrn  no  more, 

Nor  whisper  love  again ! 


II. 


POEMS    OF    NATURE. 


POEMS    OF    NATURE. 


WOODS   AND    WATERS. 

"  0  ye  valleys  !  0  ye  mountains  ! ' 
0  ye  groves  and  crystal  fountains  ! 
How  I  love  at  liberty, 
By  turns,  to  come  and  visit  ye  ! " 

/"10ME,  let  us  burst  the  cerements  and  the  shroud, 

And  with  the  livelong  year  renew  our  breath, 
Far  from  the  darkness  of  the  city's  cloud 

Which  hangs  above  us  like  the  pall  of  Death  : 
Haste,  let  us  leave  the  shadow  of  his  wings ! 
Off  from  our  cares,  a  stolen,  happy  time  ! 

Come  where  the  skies  are  blue,  the  uplands  green  ; 

For  hark !   the  robin  sings 
Even  here,  blithe  herald,  his  auroral  rhyme, 
Foretelling  joy,  and  June  his  sovereign  queen. 


142  WOODS   AND    WATERS. 

See,  in  our  paved  courts  her  missal  scroll 

Is  dropped  astealth,  and  every  verdant  line, 
Emblazoned  round  with  Summer's  aureole,' 

Pictures  to  eager  eyes,  like  thine  and  mine, 
Her  trees  new-leaved  and  hillsides  far  away. 
Ransom  has  come  :    out  from  this  vaulted  town, 
Poor  prisoners  of  a  giant  old  and  blind, 

Into  the  breezy  day, 

Fleeing-  the  sights  and  sounds  that  wear  us  down, 
And  in  the  fields  our  ancient  solace  find ! 


Again  I  hunger  for  the  living  wood, 

The  laurelled  crags,  the  hemlocks  hanging  wide, 
The  rushing  stream  that  will  not  be  withstood, 

Bound  forward  to  wed  him  with  the  river's  tide  : 
0  what  wild  leaps  through  many  a  fettered  pass, 
Through  knotted  ambuscade  of  root  and  rock, 
How  white  the  plunge,  how  dark  the  cloven  pool ! 

Then  to  rich  meadow-grass, 
And  pastures  fed  by  tinkling  herd  and  flock, 
Till  the  wide  stream  receives  its  waters  cool. 


WOODS  AND  WATERS.-  143 

Again  I  long  for  lakes  that  lie  between 

High  mountains,  fringed  about  with  virgin  firs, 
Where  hand  of  man  has  never  rudely  been, 

Nor  plashing  wheel  the  limpid  water  stirs  ; 
There  let  us  twain  begin  the  world  again 

Like  those  of  old,  —  while  tree,  and  trout,  and  deer, 
Unto  their  kindred  beings  draw  our  own, 

Till  more  than  haunts  of  men, 

Than  place  and  pelf,  more  welcome  these  appear, 
And  better  worth  sheer  life  than  we  had   known. 


Thither,  ay,  thither  flee,  0  dearest  friend, 

From  walls  wherein  we  grow  so  wan  and  old  ! 
The  liberal  Earth  will  still  her  lovers  lend 
Water  of  life  and  stoned  sands  of  gold  ; 
Though  of  her  perfect  form  thou  hast  secured 
Thy  will,  some  charm  shall  aye  thine  hold  defy, 
And  day  by  day  thy  passion  yet  shall  grow, 

Even  as  a  bridegroom,  lured 
By  the  unravished  secret  of  her  eye, 

Heads  the  bride's  soul,  yet  never  all  can  know. 


144  WOODS   AND   WATERS. 

And  when  from  her  embrace  again  thou  ?rt  torn, 

(Though  well  for  her  the  world  were  thrown  away ! ) 
At  thine  old  tasks  thou  'It  not  be  quite  forlorn, 

Remembering  where  is  peace  ;  and  thou  shalt  say, 
"  I  know  where  beauty  has  not  felt  the  curse,  — 
Where,  though  I  age,  all  round  me  is  so  young 
That  in  its  youth  my  soul's  youth  mirrored  seems  : 

Yes,  in  their  rippling  verse, 
For  all  our  toil,  they  have  not  falsely  sung 

Who  said  there  still  was  rest  beyond  our  dreams." 


TO   B.   T.  145 


TO    B.    T. 

WITH     A     COPY     OF    THE    ILIAD. 

T>  AYARD,  awaken  not  this  music  strong, 

While  round  thy  home  the  indolent  sweet  breeze 
Floats  lightly  as  the  summer  breath  of  seas 
O'er  which  Ulysses  heard  the  Sirens7  song. 
Dreams  of  low-lying  isles  to  June  belong, 
And  Circe  holds  us  in  her  haunts  of  ease  : 
But  later,  when  these  high  ancestral  trees 
Are  sere,  and  such  melodious  languors  wrong 
The  reddening  strength  of  the  autumnal  year, 
Yield  to  heroic  words  tliy  ear  and  eye  ;  — 
Intent  on  these  broad  pages  thou  shalt  hear 
The  trumpets'  blare,  the  Argive  battle-cry, 
And  see  Achilles  hurl  his  hurtling  spear, 
And  mark  the  Trojan  arrows  make  reply  ! 


146  THE  MOUNTAIN. 


THE    MOUNTAIN. 

rTWO  thousand  feet  in  air  it  stands 

Betwixt  the  bright  and  shaded  lands, 
Above  the  regions  it  divides 
And  borders  with  its  furrowed  sides. 
The  seaward  valley  laughs  with  light 
Till  the  round  sun  o'erhangs  this  height ; 
But  then  the  shadow  of  the  crest 
No  more  the  plains  that  lengthen  west 
Enshrouds,  yet  slowly,  surely  creeps 
Eastward,  until  the  coolness  steeps 
A  darkling  league  of  tilth  and  wold, 
And  chills  the  flocks  that  seek  their  fold. 

Not  like  those  ancient  summits  lone, 
Mont  Blanc,  on  his  eternal  throne, — 
The  city-gemmed  Peruvian  peak, — 
The  sunset  portals  landsmen  seek, 


THE  MOUNTAIN.  147 

Whose  train,  to  reach  the  Golden  Land, 

Crawls  slow  and  pathless  through  the  sand,  — 

Or  that,  whose  ice-lit  beacon  guides 

The  mariner  on  tropic  tides, 

And  flames  across  the  Gulf  afar, 

A  torch  by  day,  by  night  a  star,  — 

Not  thus,  to  cleave  the  outer  skies, 

Does  my  serener  mountain  rise, 

Nor  aye  forget  its  gentle  birth 

Upon  the  dewy,  pastoral  earth. 

But  ever,  in  the  noonday  light, 

Are  scenes  whereof  I  love  the  sight,  — 

Broad  pictures  of  the  lower  world 

Beneath  my  gladdened  eyes  unfurled. 

Irradiate  distances  reveal 

Fair  nature  wed  to  human  weal ; 

The  rolling  valley  made  a  plain  ; 

Its  checkered  squares  of  grass  and  grain  ; 

The  silvery  rye,  the  golden  wheat, 

The  flowery  elders  where  they  meet,  — 

Ay,  even  the  springing  corn  I  see, 


148  THE  MOUNTAIN. 

And  garden  haunts  of  bird  and  bee ; 
And  where,  in  daisied  meadows,  shines 
The  wandering-  river  through  its  vines, 
Move  specks  at  random,  which  I  know 
Are  herds  a-grazing  to  and  fro. 

Yet  still  a  goodly  height  it  seems 

From  which  the  mountain  pours  his  streams, 

Or  hinders,  with  caressing  hands, 

The  sunlight  seeking  other  lands. 

Like  some  great  giant,  strong  and  proud, 

He  fronts  the  lowering  thunder-cloud, 

And  wrests  its  treasures,  to  bestow 

A  guerdon  on  the  realm  below  ; 

Or,  by  the  deluge  roused  from  sleep 

Within  his  bristling  forest-keep, 

Shakes  all  his  pines,  and  far  and  wide 

Sends  down  a  rich,  imperious  tide. 

At  night  the  whistling  tempests  meet 

In  tryst  upon  his  topmost  seat, 

And  all  the  phantoms  of  the  sky 

Frolic  and  gibber,  storming  by. 


THE  MOUNTAIN.  149 

By  day  I  see  the  ocean-mists 

Float  with  the  current  where  it  lists, 

And  from  my  summit  I  can  hail 

Cloud-vessels  passing  on  the  gale, — 

The  stately  argosies  of  air,  — 

And  parley  with  the  helmsmen  there  ; 

Can  probe  their  dim,  mysterious  source, 

Ask  of  their  cargo  and  their  course,  — 

Whence  come  f  where  bound  ?  —  arid  wait  reply, 

As,  all  sails  spread,  they  hasten  by. 

If,  foiled  in  what  I  fain  would  know, 
Again  I  turn  my  eyes  below 
And  eastward,  past  the  hither  mead 
Where  all  day  long  the  cattle  feed, 
A  crescent  gleam  my  sight  allures 
And  clings  about  the  hazy  moors,  — 
The  great,  encircling,  radiant  sea, 
Alone  in  its  immensity. 

Even  there,  a  queen  upon  its  shore, 
I  know  the  city  evermore 


150  THE  MOUNTAIN. 

Her  palaces  and  temples  rears, 
And  wooes  the  nations  to  her  piers  ; 
Yet  the  proud  city  seems  a  mole 
To  this  horizon-bounded  whole  ; 
And,  from  my  station  on  the  mount, 
The  whole  is  little  worth  account 
Beneath  the  overhanging  sky, 
That  seems  so  far  and  yet  so  nigh. 
Here  breathe  I  inspiration  rare, 
Unburdened  by  the  grosser  air 
That  hugs  the  lower  land,  and  feel 
Through  all  my  finer  senses  steal 
The  life  of  what  that  life  may  be, 
Freed  from  this  dull  earth's  density, 
When  we,  with  many  a  soul-felt  thrill, 
Shall  thrid  the  ether  at  our  will, 
Through  widening  corridors  of  morn 
And  starry  archways  swiftly  borne. 

Here,  in  the  process  of  the  night, 
The  stars  themselves  a  purer  light 
Give  out,  than  reaches  those  who  gaze 


THE  MOUNTAIN.  151 

Enshrouded  with  the  valley's  haze. 

October,  entering  Heaven's  fane, 

Assumes  her  lucent,  annual  reign  : 

Then  what  a  dark  and  dismal  clod, 

Forsaken  by  the  Sons  of  God, 

Seems  this  sad  world,  to  those  which  march 

Across  the  high,  illumined  arch, 

And  with  their  brightness  draw  me  forth 

To  scan  the  splendors  of  the  North  1 

I  see  the  Dragon,  as  he  toils 

With  Ursa  in  his  shining  coils, 

And  mark  the  Huntsman  lift  his  shield, 

Confronting  on  the  ancient  field 

The  Bull,  while  in  a  mystic  row 

The  jewels  of  his  girdle  glow  ; 

Or,  haply,  I  may  ponder  long 

On  that  remoter,  sparkling  throng, 

The  orient  sisterhood,  around 

"Whose  chief  our  Galaxy  is  wound  ; 

Thus,  half  enwrapt  in  classic  dreams, 

And  brooding  over"  Learning's  gleams, 

I  leave  to  gloom  the  under-land, 


152  THE  MOUNTAIN. 

And  from  my  watch-tower,  close  at  hand, 
Like  him  who  led  the  favored  race, 
I  look  on  glory  face  to  face  ! 

So,  on  the  mountain-top,  alone, 
I  dwell,  as  one  who  holds  a  throne  ; 
Or  prince,  or  peasant,  him  I  count 
My  peer,  who  stands  upon  a  mount, 
Sees  farther  than  the  tribes  below, 
And  knows  the  joys  they  cannot  know  ; 
And,  though  beyond  the  sound  of  speech 
They  reign,  rny  soul  goes  out  to  reach, 
Far  on  their  noble  heights  elsewhere, 
My  brother-monarchs  of  the  air. 


HOLYOKE   VALLEY.  153 


HOLYOKE    VALLEY. 

"Something  sweet 
Followed  youth,  with  flying  feet, 
And  will  never  come  again." 

TTOW  many  years  have  made  their  flights, 

Northampton,  over  thee  and  me, 
Since  last  I  scaled  those  purple  heights 
That  guard  the  pathway  to  the  sea; 

Or  climbed,  as  now,  the  topmost  crown 
Of  western  ridges,  whence  again 

I  see,  for  miles  beyond  the  town, 
That  sunlit  stream  divide  the  plain? 

There  still  the-  giant  warders  stand 

And  watch  the  current's  downward  flow, 

And  northward  still,  with  threatening  hand, 
The  river  bends  his  ancient  bow. 


154  HOLYOKE   VALLEY. 

I  see  the  hazy  lowlands  meet 

The  sky,  and  count  each  shining  spire, 

From  those  which  sparkle  at  my  feet 
To  distant  steeples  tipt  with  fire. 

For  still,  old  town,  thou  art  the  same  : 
The  redbreasts  sing  their  choral  tune, 

Within  thy  mantling  elms  aflame, 
As  in  that  other,  dearer  June, 

When  here  my  footsteps  entered  first, 
And  summer  perfect  beauty  wore, 

And  all  thy  charms  upon  me  burst, 
While  Life's  whole  journey  lay  before. 

Here  every  fragrant  walk  remains, 
Where  happy  maidens  come  and  go, 

And  students  saunter  in  the  lanes, 
And  hum  the  songs  I  used  to  know. 

I  gaze,  yet  find  myself  alone, 

And  walk  with  solitary  feet: 
How  strange  these  wonted  ways  have  grown  I 

Where  are  the  friends  I  used  to  meet  ? 


HOLYOKE  VALLEY.  155 

In  yonder  shaded  Academe 

The  rippling  metres  flow  to-day, 
But  other  boys  at  sunset  dream 

Of  love,  and  laurels  far  away  ; 

And  ah  !   from  yonder  trellised  home, 

Less  sweet  the  faces  are  that  peer 
Than  those  of  old,  and  voices  come 

Less  musically  to  my  ear. 

Sigh  not,  ye  breezy  elms,  but  give 
The  murmur  of  my  sweetheart's  vows, 

When  Life  was  something  worth  to  live, 
And  Love  was  young  bene-ath  your  boughs ! 

Fade  beauty,  smiling  everywhere, 
That  can  from  jrear  to  year  outlast 

Those  charms  a  thousand  times  more  fair, 
And,  0,  our  joys  so  quickly  past ! 

Or  smile  to  gladden  fresher  hearts 
Henceforth  :    but  they  shall  yet  be  led, 

Revisiting  these  ancient  parts, 

Like  me  to  mourn  their  glory  fled. 


156  THE  FEAST   OF  HAKVEST. 


THE  FEAST  OF  HARVEST. 

E  fair  Earth  smiled  and  turned  herself  and  woke, 
And  to  the  Sun  with  nuptial  greeting  said  : 
"  I  had  a  dream,  wherein  it  seemed  men  broke 

A  sovran  league,  and  long  years  fought  and  bled, 
Till  down  my  sweet  sides  ran  my  children's  gore, 
And  all  my  beautiful  garments  were  made  red, 
And  all  my  fertile  fields  were  thicket-grown, 
Nor  could  thy  dear  light  reach  me  through  the  air ; 
At  last  a  voice  cried,   'Let  them  strive  no  more  ! } 
Then  music  breathed,  and  lo  !    from  my  despair 
I  wake  to  joy,  —  yet  would  not  joy  alone  ! 

"For,  hark!    I  hear  a  murmur  on  the  meads, — 
Where  as  of  old  my  children  seek  my  face,  — 

The  low  of  kine,  the  peaceful  tramp  of  steeds, 
Blithe  shouts  of  then  in  many  a  pastoral  place, 

The  noise  of  tilth  through  all  my  goodliest  land  ; 
And  happy  laughter  of  a  dusky  race 


THE  FEAST   OF  HAEVEST.  157 

Whose  brethren  lift  them  from  their  ancient  toil, 
Saying:    "The  year  of  jubilee  has  come; 
Gather  the  gifts  of  Earth  with  equal  hand  ; 

Henceforth  ye  too  may  share  the  birthright  soil, 
The  corn,  the  wine,  and  all  the  harvest-home. " 

"  0  my  dear  lord,  my  radiant  bridegroom,  look  ! 

Behold  their  joy  who  sorrowed  in  my  dreams, — 
The  sword  a  share,  the  spear  a  pruning-hook  ; 

Lo,  I  awake,  and  turn  me  toward  thy  beams 
Even  as  a  bride  again  !      0,  shed  thy  light 

Upon  my  fruitful  places  in  full  streams  ! 
Let  there  be  yield  for  every  living  thing  ; 

The  land  is  fallow,  —  let  there  be  increase 
After  the  darkness  of  the  sterile  night ; 

Ay,  let  us  twain  a  festival  of  Peace 

Prepare,  and  hither  all  my  nations  bring !  " 

The  fair  Earth  spake  :  the  glad  Sun  speeded  forth, 
Hearing  her  matron  words,  and  backward  drave 

To  frozen  caves  the  icy  Wind  of  the  North,  — 
And  bade  the  South  Wind  from  the  tropic  wave 


158  THE  FEAST   OF  HARVEST. 

Bring  watery  vapors  over  river  and  plain, — 

And  bade  the  East  Wind  cross  her  path,  and  lave 
The  lowlands,  emptying  there  her  laden  mist,  — 
And  bade  the  Wind  of  the  West,  the  best  wind,  blow 
After  the  early  and  the  latter  rain,  — 

And  beamed  himself,  and  oft  the  sweet  Earth  kissed, 
While  her  swift  servitors  sped  to  and  fro. 

Forthwith  the  troop  that,  at  the  beck  of  Earth, 

Foster  her  children,  brought  a  glorious  store 
Of  viands,  food  of  immemorial  worth, 

Her  earliest  gifts,  her  tenderest  evermore. 
First  came  the  Silvery  Spirit,  whose  marshalled  files 

Climb  up  the  glades  in  billowy  breakers  hoar, 
Nodding  their  crests, — and  at  his  side  there  sped 

The  Golden  Spirit,  whose  yellow  harvests  trail 
Across  the  continents  and  fringe  the  isles, 

And  freight  men's  argosies  where'er  they  sail  : 
0,  what  a  wealth  of  sheaves  he  there  outspread  ! 

Came  the  dear  Spirit  whom  Earth  doth  love  the  best, 
Fragrant  of  clover-bloom  and  new-mown  hay, 


THE  FEAST   OF  HAEVEST.  159 

Beneath  whose  mantle  weary  ones  find  rest, 

On  whose  green  skirts  the  little  children  play : 
She  bore  the  food  our  patient  cattle  crave. 

Next,  robed  in  silk,  with  tassels  scattering  spray, 

Followed  the  generous  Spirit  of  the  Maize,  — 
And  many  a  kindred  shape  of  high  renown 
Bore  in  the  clustering  grape,  the  fruits  that  wave 

On  orchard  branches  or  in  gardens  blaze, 
And  those  the  wind-shook  forest  hurtles  down. 

Even  thus  they  laid  a  great  and  marvellous  feast, 

And  Earth  her  children  summoned  joyously, 
Throughout  that  goodliest  land  wherein  had  ceased 

The  vision  of  battle,  and  with  glad  hands  fre.e 
These  took  their  fill,  and  plenteous  measures  poured, 

Beside,  for  those  who  dwelt  beyond  the  sea  ; 
Praise,  like  an  incense,  upward  rose  to  Heaven 

For  that  full  harvest,  —  and  the  autumnal  Sun 
Stayed  long  above,  —  and  ever  at  the  board, 

Peace,  white-robed  angel,  held  the  high  seat  given, 

And  War  far  off  withdrew  his  visage  dun. 


160  AUTUMN    SONG. 


AUTUMN    SONG. 

"VTO  clouds  are  in  the  morning1  sky, 

The  vapors  hug  the  stream,  — 
Who  says  that  life  and  love  can  die 

In  all  this  northern  gleam  ? 
At  every  turn  the  maples  burn, 

The  quail  is  whistling  free, 
The  partridge  whirs,  and  the  frosted  burs 
Are  dropping  for  you  and  me. 
Ho!  hilly  ho!  heigh  0! 

Hilly  ho  ! 
In  the  clear  October  morning. 

Along  our  path  the  woods  are  bold, 

And  glow  with  ripe  desire  ; 
The  yellow  chestnut  showers  its  gold, 

The  sumachs  spread  their  fire  ; 
The  breezes  feel  as  crisp  as  steel, 

The  buckwheat  tops  are  red  : 


AUTUMN  SONG.  161 

Then  down  the  lane,  love,  scurry  again, 
And  over  the  stubble  tread! 
Ho  !  hilly  ho  I  heigh  0  ! 

Hilly  Jw! 
In  the  clear  October  morning. 


162  WHAT    THE   WINDS   BEING. 


WHAT   THE   WINDS   BEING. 

•VTTHICH  is  the  Wind  that  brings  the  cold? 

The  North  Wind,  Freddy,  and  all  the  snow  ; 
And  the  sheep  will  scamper  into  the  fold 
When  the  North  begins  to  blow. 

Which  is  the  Wind  that  brings  the  heat? 

The  South  Wind,  Katy  ;  and  corn  will  grow, 
And  peaches  redden  for  you  to  eat, 

When  the  South  begins  to  blow. 

Which  is  the  Wind  that  brings  the  rain  ? 

The  East  Wind,  Arty  ;  and  farmers  know 
That  cows  come  shivering  up  the  lane 

When  the  East  begins  to  blow. 

Which  is  the  Wind  that  brings  the  flowers  ? 

The  West  Wind,  Bessy ;   and  soft  and  low 
The  birdies  sing  in  the  summer  hours 

When  the  West  begins  to  blow. 


BETKOTHED   ANEW.  163 


BETROTHED    ANEW. 

fTlHE  sunlight  fills  the  trembling  air, 

And  balmy  days  their  guerdons  bring ; 
The  Earth  again  is  young  and  fair, 
And  amorous  with  musky  Spring. 

The  golden  nurslings  of  the  May 

In  splendor  strew  the  spangled  green, 

And  hues  of  tender  beauty  play, 
Entangled  where  the  willows  lean. 

Mark  how  the  rippled  currents  flow  : 
What  lustres  on  the  meadows  lie ! 

And  hark,  the  songsters  come  and  go, 
And  trill  between  the  earth  and  sky. 

Who  told  us  that  the  years  had  fled, 
Or  borne  afar  our  blissful  youth  ? 

Such  joys  are  all  about  us  spread, 
We  know  the  whisper  was  not  truth. 


164  BETROTHED   ANEW. 

The  birds,  that  break  from  grass  and  grove, 
Sing  every  carol  that  they  sung 

When  first  our  veins  were  rich  with  love, 
And  May  her  mantle  round  us  flung. 

0  fresh-lit  dawn  !    immortal  life  ! 

0  Earth's  betrothal,  sweet  and  true, 
With  whose  delights  our  souls  are  rife 

And  aye  their  vernal  vows  renew  ! 

Then,  darling,  walk  with  me  this  morn  : 
Let  your  brown  tresses  drink  its  sheen  ; 

These  violets,  within  them  worn, 
Of  floral  fays  shall  make  you  queen. 

What  though  there  comes  a  time  of  pain 
When  autumn  winds  forebode  decay  ; 

The  days  of  love  are  born  again, 
That  fabled  time  is  far  away ! 

And  never  seemed  the  land  so  fair 

As  now,  nor  birds  such  notes  to  sing, 
Since  first  within  your  shining  hair 

1  wove  the  blossoms  of  the  Spring. 


III. 


SHADOW-LAND. 


SHADOW-LAND. 


THE   UNDISCOVERED   COUNTRY/7 


/^OULD  we  but  know 

The  land  that  ends  our  dark,  uncertain  travel, 
Where  lie  those  happier  hills  and  meadows  low,  — 
Ah,  if  beyond  the  spirit's  inmost  cavil, 

Aught  of  that  country  could  we  surely  know, 
Who  would  not  go  ? 

Might  we  but  hear 
The  hovering  angels7  high  imagined  chorus, 

Or  catch,  betimes,  with  wakeful  eyes  and  clear, 
One  radiant  vista  of  the  realm  before  us,  — 

With  one  rapt  moment  given  to  see  and  hear,    • 
Ah,  who  would  fear? 


168  "  THE   UNDISCOVERED   COUNTRY." 

Were  we  quite  sure 

To  find  the  peerless  friend  who  left  us  lonely, 

Or  there,  by  some  celestial  stream  as  pure, 

To  gaze  in  eyes  that  here  were  lovelit  only, — 

This  weary  mortal  coil,  were  we  quite  sure, 

Who  would  endure  ? 


DARKNESS   AND   THE   SHADOW."  169 


"DAKKNESS  AND   THE  SHADOW." 

TTTAKING,  I  have  been  nigh  to  Death,  - 
Have  felt  the  chilluess  of  his  breath 
Whiten  my  cheek  and  numb  my  heart, 
And  wondered  why  he  stayed  his  dart,  — 
Yet  quailed  not,  but  could  meet  him  so, 
As  any  lesser  friend  or  foe. 

But  sleeping,  in  the  dreams  of  night, 
His  phantom  stifles  me  with  fright ! 
0  God !  what  frozen  horrors  fall 
Upon  me  with  his  visioned  pall  : 
The  movelessness,  the  unknown  dread, 
Fair  life  to  pulseless  silence  wed ! 

And  is  the  grave  so  darkly  deep, 
So  hopeless,  as  it  seems  in  sleep  ? 
Can  our  sweet  selves  the  coffin  hold 
So  dumb  within  its  crumbling  mould  ? 
8 


170  "DARKNESS  AND  THE   SHADOW." 

And  is  the  shroud  so  dank  and  drear 
A  garb,  —  the  noisome  worm  so  near  ? 

Where  then  is  Heaven's  mercy  fled, — 
To  quite  forget  the  voiceless  dead  ? 


THE  ASSAULT  BY  NIGHT.  171 


THE   ASSAULT  BY  NIGHT. 

A  LL  night  we  hear  the  rattling  flaw, 

The  casements  shiver  with  each  breath ; 
And  still  more  near  the  foemen  draw, 
The  pioneers  of  Death. 
Their  grisly  chieftain  comes  : 
He  steals  upon  us  in  the  night ; 
Call  up  the  guards  !  light  every  light ! 
Beat  the  alarum  dru-ms  ! 

His  tramp  is  at  the  outer  door  ; 

He  bears  against  the  shuddering  walls  ; 
Lo  !  what  a  dismal  frost  and  hoar 
Upon  the  window  falls  ! 
Outbar  him  while  ye  may  ! 
Feed,  feed  the  watch-fires  everywhere,  — 
Even  yet  their  cheery  warmth  will  scare 
This  thing  of  night  away. 


172  THE  ASSAULT   BY  NIGHT. 

Ye  cannot !  something  chokes  the  grate 

And  clogs  the  air  within  its  flues, 
And  runners  from  the  entrance-gate 
Come  chill  with  evil  news  : 
The  bars  are  broken  ope  ! 
Ha !   he  has  scaled  the  inner  wall ! 
But  fight  him  still,  from  hall  to  hall ; 
While  life  remains,  there  7s  hope. 

Too  late  !    the  very  frame  is  dust, 

The  locks  and  trammels  fall  apart; 
He  reaches,  scornful  of  their  trust, 
The  portals  of  the  heart. 
Ay,  take  the  citadel  ! 

But  where,  grim  Conqueror,  is  thy  prey? 
In  vain  thou  'It  search  each  secret  way, 
Its  flight  is  hidden  well. 

We  yield  thee,  for  thy  paltry  spoils, 

This  shell,  this  ruin  thou  hast  made ; 
Its  tenant  has  escaped  thy  toils, 

Though  they  were  darkly  laid. 


THE   ASSAULT   BY  NIGHT.  173 

Even  now,  immortal,  pure, 
It  gains  a  house  not  made  with  hands, 
A  refuge  in  serener  lands, 

A  heritage  secure. 


174  GEOEGE  AENOLD. 


GEORGE   ARNOLD. 

GREENWOOD,  NOVEMBER  13,  1865. 

TTTE  stood  around  the  dreamless  form 

Whose  strength  was  so  untimely  shaken, 
Whose  sleep  not  all  our  love  could  warm, 
Nor  any  dearest  voice  awaken  ; 

And  while  the  Autumn  breathed  her  sighs, 
And  dropped  a  thousand  leafy  glories, 

And  all  the  pathways,  and  the  skies, 
Were  mindful  of  his  songs  and  stories, 

Nor  failed  to  wear  the  mingled  hues 
He  loved,  and  knew  so  well  to  render, 

But  wooed,  —  alas,  in  vain  !  —  their  Muse 
For  one  more  tuneful  lay  and  tender, 

We  paused  awhile,  —  the  gathered  few 
Who  came,  in  longing,  not  in  duty,  — 


GEORGE   ARNOLD.  175 

With  eyes  that  full  of  weeping  grew, 
To  look  their  last  upon  his  beauty. 

Death  would  riot  rudely  rob  that  face, 
Nor  dim  its  fine  Arcadian  brightness, 

But  gave  the  lines  a  clearer  grace, 

And  sleep's  repose,  and  marble's  whiteness. 

And,  gazing  there  on  him  so  young, 
We  thought  of  all  his  ended  mission, 

The  broken  links,  the  songs  unsung, 
The  love  that  found  no  ripe  fruition  ; 

Till  last  the  old,  old  question  came 

To  hearts  that  beat  with  life  around  him, 

Why  Death,  with  downward  torch  aflame, 
Had  searched  our  number  till  he  found  him? 

Why  passed  the  one  who  poorly  knows 
That  blithesome  spell  for  either  fortune 

Or  mocked  with  lingering  menace  those 
Whose  pains  the  final  thrust  importune  ; 


176  GEORGE   ARNOLD. 

Or  left  the  toiling  ones  who  bear 

The  crowd's  neglect,  the  want  that  presses, 

The  woes  no  human  soul  can  share, 
Nor  look,  nor  spoken  word,  confesses 

And  from  the  earth  no  answer  came, 
The  forest  wore  a  stillness  deeper, 

The  sky  and  lake  smiled  on  the  same, 
And  voiceless  as  the  silent  sleeper. 

And  so  we  turned  ourselves  away, 
By  earth  and  air  and  water  chidden, 

And  left  him  with  them,  where  he  lay, 
A  sharer  of  their  secret  hidden. 

And  each  the  staff  and  shell  again 

Took  up,  and  marched  with  memories  haunted ; 
But  henceforth,  in  our  pilgrim-strain, 

We  '11  miss  a  voice  that  sweetly  chaunted ! 


THE   SAD   BRIDAL.  177 


THE    SAD    BRIDAL. 

TTTHAT  would  you  do,  my  dear  one  said, 
What  would  you  do,  if  I  were  dead? 
If  Death  should  mumble,  as  he  list, 
These  red  lips  which  now  you  kist? 
What  would  my  love  do,  were  I  wed 
To  that  ghastly  groom  instead  ; 
If  o'er  me,  in  the  chancel,  Death 
Should  cast  his  amaranthine  wreath,  — 
Before  my  eyes,  with  fingers  pale, 
Draw  down  the  mouldy  bridal  veil  ? 
—  Ah  no  !    no  !    it  cannot  be  ! 
Death  would  spare  their  light,  and  flee, 
And  leave  my  love  to  Life  and  me ! 


8* 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  THEOCRITUS. 


[***  A  portion  of  the  Tenth  and  the  whole  of  the  Thirteenth 
Idyls  of  Theocritus  are  given  in  the  following  translations.  The 
text  of  "Hylas"  is  somewhat  in  dispute,  and,  as  the  translator 
has  examined  various  editions,  his  version  will  be  found  to  diil'cr, 
in  one  or  two  places,  from  the  common  reading.  He  has,  also, 
with  good  authority,  divided  the  alternate  songs  of  "  The  Reap- 
ers "  into  the  couplets,  which  so  exactly  balance  each  other,  and 
which  are  approved  by  critical  and  poetical  instinct.  The  Eng- 
lish hexameter  has  been  selected  as  the  only  measure  adapted  to 
a  literal  and  lineal  rendering  of  the  peculiar  idyllic  verse.  These 
specimens  of  the  Sicilian-Doric  poetry,  including  a  pastoral  and 
a  semi-epic  theme,  are  from  a  version  of  the  works  of  Theocritus, 
Bion,  and  Moschus,  which  the  translator  hopes  to  complete  at 
some  future  day.] 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  THEOCRITUS. 


THE    REAPERS. 

MILO  AND  BATTUS. 

MlLO. 

BUT  come  now,  down  with  the  harvest ! 
Strike    up    also,    I   pray,    a   sweetheart    song    of   the 

maiden  ; 
Thus  will  you  work  more  lightly:  —  I  think  you  used 

to  be  tuneful. 

BATTUS  (sings). 

"  Sing  with  me,  0  Pierian  Muses,  the  lass  that  is  lis- 
some ; 

For  ye  make  all  things  fair,  whatever  ye  touch,  ye 
Divine  Ones  !  25 


182  THE  KEAPERS. 

"  Graceful  Bombyce,  they  call  you  a  Syrian,  scrawny 

and  sunburnt,  — 
All  but  me,   who  alone   pronounce   you  the   color  of 

honey. 

"  Ay,  and  the  violet's  dark,  and  the  hyacinth  wearing 

its  letters  : 
None  the  less,  for  all  that,  are  they  sorted  first  in  the 

garlands. 

"  She-goats  hunt  for  the  clover,  the  wolf  goes  after 
the  she-goat,  30 

After  the  plough  the  crane, — but  I  've  gone  raving 
for  you,  love  ! 

"  Would  that  mine  were  as  much  as  Croesus,  they  say, 

was  possessed  of; 
Then    should    we    twain,    in    gold,    be    set    up    before 

Aphrodite"  ; 

"You   with    a  —  yes,    with    a   flute,    and    a   rose,    or, 

maybe,  an  apple  ; 
I,    with    new    Amyclasan    shoes,    and    a    robe    in    the 

fashion.  :J5 


THE  REAPERS.  183 

"  Graceful  Bombyce,  your  feet  are  pretty  as  dice  that 

twinkle  ; 
Soft   is   your   voice  ;   but  your   manner,  —  I   have   no 

words  to  express  it !  " 

MILO. 

Look  you,  the   lad   has    been   sly,  composing   us   ele- 
gant ditties  : 

See  how  well   he  has  measured    the  form  of  his  even 
rhythm  ! 

0  this  beard  of  mine,  which  I  seem  to  have  grown  to 
no  purpose !  40 

But.  to   go   on,   now   hear   these   words   of  the   sage 
Lytierses  : 

(Sings.) 

"  0  Demeter,  abounding  in  fruit  and  ears  of  the  harvest, 

Well  may  this   field  be  worked  and  yield  a  crop  be- 
yond measure  ! 

"Hard,  bind  hard,  ye  binders,  the  sheaves,  lest  ever 

a  passer 
Say,    '  These   men   are   poor   sticks,   and   their   pay   is 

cash  out  of  pocket/  45 


184  THE   REAPERS. 

"  Toward  the  north-wind   let   your  swath  of  grain   in 

«      the  cutting 

Look,  or  else  to  the  west,  for  thus  the  ear  will  grow 
fuller. 

"  Threshers,  threshing  the  corn,  should  shun  the  slum- 
bers of  noonday  ; 

That  is  the  very  hour  when  the  chaff  flies  off  from 
the  wheat-stalk. 

"  Reapers,  begin  your  toil  when  the  tuft-lark  soars 
from  the  meadow  :  50 

Cease  when  he  sleeps  :  besides,  in  the  heat  of  the 
day  take  your  leisure. 

"  Give  me  a  frog's  life,  boys !    he  needs,  to  pour  out 

his  tipple, 
No  cup-bearer,  not  -he,  for  't  is   up   to   his  mouth  all 

around  him. 

"  Better   to   boil   the   lentil,  you  '11  find  it,  niggardly 

steward  : 
'Ware  lest  you  cut  your  hand  in  making  two  halves 

of  a  cummin."  55 


THE  REAPERS.  185 

(Speaks.) 

Staves  like  these  'tis  tit  that  men  at  work  in  the 
sunshine 

Troll  ;  but,  lad,  't  were  better  to  prate  of  your  starve- 
ling passion 

Unto  your  mother  awake  in  her  bed  at  break  of  the 
morning. 


186  HYLAS. 


HYLAS. 

for  ourselves  alone  the  God,  who  fathered  that 

stripling 
Eros,    begat    him,    Nicias,    as    we    have    flattered    us : 

neither 
Unto  ourselves  the  first  have  beauties  seemed   to   be 

beauties,  — 
Not  unto  us,  who  are  mortal   and  do  not  foresee  the 

morrow  ; 
But    that    heart    of    brass,    Amphitryon's    son,    who 

awaited  5 

.Stoutly  the  ruthless  lion,  he  too  was  fond  of  a  youth 

once, — 
Graceful  HYLAS,  the  lad  with  the  curling  locks,  —  and 

he  taught  him 
All  fair  things,  as  a  father  would   teach   the  child  of 

his  bosom, 
All  which  himself  had  learned,  and  great  and  renowned 

in  song  grown  ; 


HYLAS.  187 

Nor  was   he   ever   at   all    apart   from   him,  neither  at    . 

midday,  10 

Nor  when  the  white-horsed  car  of  Eos  ran  up  to  Zeus- 
ward,  — 
Nor  when  the  twittering  chickens  looked  to  their  nest, 

and  the  mother 
Over    her    smoky    perch    at    eve    had     fluttered    her 

pinions,  — 
So  might  the  lad  be  featly  trained  to  his  heart's  own 

liking, 
And,    with    himself   for    guide,    grow   up    a   genuine 

hero.  15 

Now  when    it  chanced   that   Jason,  the  son  of  ^Eson, 

went  sailing 
After   the  Golden  Fleece,  and  with   him   followed   the 

nobles,  — 
Picked  from  all  the  towns  and  ripe  for  that  service,  — 

among  them 

Also  to  rich  lolchos  came  the  laboring  hero, 
He  that  was  son  of  Alcmene,  —  the  heroine  of  Mideia  ;  20 
By    his    side    went    Hylas    down    to    the    bulwarked 

Argo,  — 


188  HYLAS. 

Which  good  ship   the   clashing   Cyanean   rocks   in   no 

wise 
Touched,    but   clove   as   an   eagle,  —  and   so   ran  into 

deep  Phasis,  — 
Clove    through    a    mighty    surge,    whence    low    reef's 

jutted  in  those  days. 
So   at   the   time  when   the  Pleiads   rise,  —  and    out-of- 

way  places  25 

Pasture  the  youngling  lamb,  and  Spring  has  turned,  — 

the  immortal 
Flower  of  heroes   began  of  their  voyage   then  to  be 

mindful, 
And,    having    sat    them    do-wn    again    in    the    hollow 

Argo, 
Came   to   the   Hellespont,  a  south   wind   blowing,  the 

third  day, 
And   within    the    Propontis    their    anchorage  made,  — 

where  oxen  30 

Broaden    Cianian    furrows    afield,    and     brighten     the 

ploughshare. 
There  stepping  out  on  the  beach  they  got  the  meal 

of  the  evening, 


HYLAS.  189 

Two    by  two  ;    and    many  were    strewing  a  couch   for 

them  all,   since 
Close  at  hand  lay  a  meadow,  —  to    furnish   sedge   for 

the  bedding  : 
Thence   sharp    flowering-rush   and   low  galingale   they 

cut  them.  35 

And   with    a   brazen    ewer   the   fair-haired   Hylas   was 

seeking 
Water,    for   Ilerakles'    supper,    and    sturdy   Telamon's 

also,  — 
Comrades  twain,   that  ever  were  used   to  eat  at  one 

table. 
Erelong,    too,    he     spied     a     spring     in    a    low-lying 

hollow  : 

Round  its  brim  there  grew  a  host  of  rushes,  and  dark- 
blue  40 
Celandine  rose,  and  pale-green  maiden-hair  :  and  parsley 
Throve,    and    the    witch-grass    tangling    wild    through 

watery  places. 
Now  the  Nymphs  were  starting  a  dance  in  the  midst 

of  the  fountain,  — 
Sleepless  Nymphs,  divine,  to  country  people  a  terror,  — 


190  HYLAS. 

Malis,  Eunica,  and  one  with  her  look  of  the  Spring, 
Nychea.  45 

Soothly,  the  lad  was  holding  the  huge  jar  over  the 
water, 

Dipping  in  haste,  when  one  and  all  grew  fast  to  his 
hand  there. 

Love  wound  close  around  the  gentle  hearts  of  the 
bevy, 

Love  for  the  Argive  boy  :  and  headlong  into  the  dark 
pool 

Fell  he,  as  when  a  fiery  star  has  fallen  from  heaven  50 

Headlong  into  the  sea,  and  a  sailor  cries  to  his  ship- 
mates : 

"loosen  the  tackle,  lads  !  —  0,  here  comes  a  wind  for 
sailing  !  " 

As  for  the  Nymphs,  they  held  on  their  knees  the  tear- 
ful stripling, 

And  with  their  kindly  words  were  fain  to  comfort  his 
spirit. 

But  Amphitryon's  son,  alarmed  for  the  youth,  be- 
stirred him,  55 

Taking  Scythian-wise  his  bended  bow  and  its  arrows, 


HYLAS.  191 

Also  the  club,  which  his  right  hand  ever  to  hold  was 

accustomed. 
Thrice,  ay,  thrice  he  shouted  HYLAS  !    loud  as  his  deep 

throat 
Could,  while  thrice  the   lad   heard  underneath,  and  a 

thin  voice 
Came  from  the  wave,  and  0,  so   near  he  was,  yet  so 

distant !  GO 

And   as  a  thick-maned   lion,  that   hears  a  whimpering 

fawn  cry 
Far    away,  —  some    lion    that    munches    flesh    on    the 

mountains,  — 
Speeds  from  his  lair  to  a  meal  which  surely  waits  for 

his  coming, 
So,  through  untrodden  brambles,  Herakles,  craving  the 

dear  youth, 
Sped  in  tremor   and   scoured   great   reaches   this  way 

and  that  way.  65 

Reckless   are   they   who   love  !   what   ills   he    suffered 

while  ranging 
Cliffs  and  thickets  !   and  light,  beside  this,  seemed  the 

quest  of  Jason. 


192  HYLAS. 

Meanwhile  the  ship  lay  still,  with  her  tackle  hoisted 
above  her, 

And,  —  of  those  present,  —  the  youth  were  clearing 
the  sails  at  midnight, 

Waiting  for  Herakles  :  he,  wherever  his  feet  might 
lead  him,  70 

Wild  went  on,  for  a  cruel  god  was  tearing  his  heart- 
strings. 

Fairest  Hylas  is  numbered  thus  with  the  Happy  Im- 
mortals : 

Nathless  the  heroes  were  scoffing  at  Herakles  as  a 
deserter, 

Since  he  had  fled  from  the  ship  of  the  thirty  benches, 
from  Argo. 

Onward  he  trudged  afoot  to  Colchis  and  welcomeless 
Phasis.  75 


THE    END. 


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